{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5063/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5063","id":"gutenberg_5063","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5063","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Classical Antiquity","Iphigenia (Mythological character) -- Drama","Opera"],"text":"This eBook was produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\nTHE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS OF EURIPIDES\n\nTRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY\n\nGILBERT MURRAY, LL.D., D. Litt.\n\nREGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe Iphigenia in Tauris is not in the modern sense a tragedy; it\nis a romantic play, beginning in a tragic atmosphere and moving\nthrough perils and escapes to a happy end. To the archaeologist\nthe cause of this lies in the ritual on which the play is based.\nAll Greek tragedies that we know have as their nucleus something\nwhich the Greeks called an Aition--a cause or origin. They all\nexplain some ritual or observance or commemorate some great event.\nNearly all, as a matter of fact, have for this Aition a Tomb\nRitual, as, for instance, the Hippolytus has the worship paid by\nthe Trozenian Maidens at that hero's grave. The use of this Tomb\nRitual may well explain both the intense shadow of death that\nnormally hangs over the Greek tragedies, and also perhaps the\nfeeling of the Fatality, which is, rightly or wrongly, supposed to\nbe prominent in them. For if you are actually engaged in\ncommemorating your hero's funeral, it follows that all through the\nstory, however bright his prospects may seem, you feel that he is\nbound to die; he cannot escape. A good many tragedies, however,\nare built not on Tomb Rituals but on other sacred Aitia: on the\nfoundation of a city, like the Aetnae, the ritual of the torch-\nrace, like the Prometheus; on some great legendary succouring of\nthe oppressed, like the Suppliant Women of Aeschylus and\nEuripides. And the rite on which the Iphigenia is based is\nessentially one in which a man is brought to the verge of death\nbut just does not die.\n\nThe rite is explained in 11. 1450 ff. of the play. On a certain\nfestival at Halae in Attica a human victim was led to the altar of\nArtemis Tauropolos, touched on the throat with a sword and then\nset free: very much what happened to Orestes among the Tauri, and\nexactly what happened to Iphigenia at Aulis. Both legends have\ndoubtless grown out of the same ritual.\n\nLike all the great Greek legends, the Iphigenia myths take many\nvarying forms. They are all of them, in their essence, conjectural\nrestorations, by poets or other 'wise men,' of supposed early\nhistory. According to the present play, Agamemnon, when just about\nto sail with all the powers of Greece against Troy, was bound by\nweather at Aulis. The medicine-man Calchas explained that Artemis\ndemanded the sacrifice of his daughter, Iphigenia, who was then at\nhome with her mother, Clytemnestra. Odysseus and Agamemnon sent\nfor the maiden on the pretext that she was to be married to the\nfamous young hero, Achilles; she was brought to Aulis and\ntreacherously slaughtered--or, at least, so people thought.\n\nThere is a subject for tragedy there; and it was brilliantly\ntreated in Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis, which was probably left\nunfinished at his death. But our play chooses a later moment of\nthe story.\n\nIn reality Artemis at the last moment saved Iphigenia, rapt her\naway from mortal eyes and set her down in the land of the Tauri to\nbe her priestess. (In Tauris is only the Latin for \"among the\nTauri.\") These Tauri possessed an image of Artemis which had\nfallen from heaven, and kept up a savage rite of sacrificing to it\nall strangers who were cast on their shores. Iphigenia, obedient\nto her goddess, and held by \"the spell of the altar,\" had to\nconsecrate the victims as they went in to be slain. So far only\nbarbarian strangers had come: she waited half in horror, half in a\nrage of revenge, for the day when she should have to sacrifice a\nGreek. The first Greek that came was her own brother, Orestes, who\nhad been sent by Apollo to take the image of Artemis and bear it\nto Attica, where it should no more be stained with human\nsacrifice.\n\nIf we try to turn from these myths to the historical facts that\nunderlay them, we may conjecture that there were three goddesses\nof the common Aegean type, worshipped in different places. At\nBrauron and elsewhere there was Iphigenia ('Birth-mighty'); at\nHalae there was the Tauropolos ('the Bull-rider,' like Europa, who\nrode on the horned Moon); among the savage and scarcely known\nTauri there was some goddess to whom shipwrecked strangers were\nsacrificed. Lastly there came in the Olympian Artemis. Now all\nthese goddesses (except possibly the Taurian, of whom we know\nlittle) were associated with the Moon and with child-birth, and\nwith rites for sacrificing or redeeming the first-born. Naturally\nenough, therefore, they were all gradually absorbed by the\nprevailing worship of Artemis. Tauropolis became an epithet of\nArtemis, Iphigenia became her priestess and 'Keybearer.' And the\nword 'Tauropolis,' which had become obscure, was explained as a\nreference to the Tauri. The old rude image of Tauropolis had come\nfrom the Tauri, and the strange ritual was descended from their\nbloody rites. So the Taurian goddess must be Artemis too. The\ntendency of ancient polytheism, when it met with some alien\nreligion, was not to treat the alien gods as entirely new persons,\nbut assuming the real and obvious existence of their own gods, to\ninquire by what names and with what ritual the strangers\nworshipped them.\n\nAs usual in Euripides, the central character of this play is a\nwoman, and a woman most unsparingly yet lovingly studied.\nIphigenia is no mere 'sympathetic heroine.' She is a worthy member\nof her great but sinister house; a haggard and exiled woman,\neating out her heart in two conflicting emotions: intense longing\nfor home and all that she had loved in childhood, and bitter self-\npitying rage against 'her murderers.' The altar of Aulis is\nconstantly in her thoughts. She does not know whether to hate her\nfather, but at least she can with a clear conscience hate all the\nrest of those implicated, Calchas, Odysseus, Menelaus, and most\nfiercely, though somewhat unjustly, Helen. All the good women in\nEuripides go wild at the name of Helen. Iphigenia broods on her\nwrongs till she can see nothing else; she feels as if she hated\nall Greeks, and lived only for revenge, for the hope of some day\nslaughtering Greeks at her altar, as pitilessly as they\nslaughtered her at Aulis. She knows how horrible this state of\nmind is, but she is now \"turned to stone, and has no pity left in\nher.\" Then the Greeks come; and even before she knows who they\nreally are, the hard shell of her bitterness slowly yields. Her\nheart goes out to them; she draws Orestes against his will into\ntalk; she insists on pitying him, insists on his pitying her; and\neventually determines, come what may, that she will save at least\nthe one stranger that she has talked with most. Presently comes\nthe discovery who the strangers are; and she is at once ready to\ndie with them or for them.\n\nAs for the scene in which Iphigenia befools Thoas, my moral\nfeelings may be obtuse, but I certainly cannot feel the slightest\ncompunction or shock at the heavy lying. Which of us would not\nexpect at least as much from his own sister, if it lay with her to\nsave him from the altars of Benin or Ashanti? I suspect that the\ngood people who lament over \"the low standard of truthfulness\nshown by even the most enlightened pagans\" have either forgotten\nthe days when they read stories of adventure, or else have not, in\nreading this scene, realised properly the strain of hairbreadth\nperil that lies behind the comedy of it. A single slip in\nIphigenia's tissue of desperate improvisations would mean death,\nand not to herself alone. One feels rather sorry for Thoas,\ncertainly, and he is a very fine fellow in his way; but a person\nwho insists on slaughtering strangers cannot expect those\nstrangers or their friends to treat him with any approach to\ncandour.\n\nThe two young men come nearer to mere ideal heroes de roman than\nany other characters in Euripides. They are surprisingly handsome\nand brave and unselfish and everything that they should be; and\nthey stand out like heroes against the mob of cowardly little\nTaurians in the Herdsman's speech. Yet they have none of the\nunreality that is usual in such figures. The shadow of madness and\nguilt hanging over Orestes makes a difference. At his first\nentrance, when danger is still far off, he is a mass of broken\nnerves; he depends absolutely on Pylades. In the later scenes,\nwhen they are face to face with death, the underlying strength of\nthe son of the Great King asserts itself and makes one understand\nwhy, for all his madness, Orestes is the chief, and Pylades only\nthe devoted follower.\n\nRomantic plays with happy endings are almost of necessity inferior\nin artistic value to true tragedies. Not, one would hope, simply\nbecause they end happily; happiness in itself is certainly not\nless beautiful than grief; but because a tragedy in its great\nmoments can generally afford to be sincere, while romantic plays\nlive in an atmosphere of ingenuity and make-believe. The Iphigenia\nis not of the same order as The Trojan Women. Yet it is a\ndelightful play; subtle, ever-changing, full of movement and\npoignancy. The recognition scene became to Aristotle a model of\nwhat such a scene should be; and the long passage before it, from\nthe entrance of the two princes onward, seems to me one of the\nmost skilful and fascinating in Greek drama.\n\nAnd after all the adventure of Euripides is not quite like that of\nthe average romantic writer. It is shot through by reflection, by\nreality and by sadness. There is a shadow that broods over the\nIphigenia, though it is not the shadow of death. It is exile,\nhomesickness. Iphigenia, Orestes, the Women of the Chorus, are all\nexiles, all away from their heart's home, among savage people and\ncruel gods. They wait on the shore while the sea-birds take wing\nfor Hellas, out beyond the barrier of the Dark-Blue Rocks and the\ngreat stretches of magical and 'unfriended' sea. Nearly all the\nlyrics are full of sea-light and the clash of waters, and the\nlyrics are usually the very soul of Euripidean tragedy.\n\nG. M.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHARACTERS OF THE PLAY\n\n\nIPHIGENIA, eldest daughter of Agamemnon, King of Argos; supposed\nto have been sacrificed by him to Artemis at Aulis.\n\nORESTES, her brother; pursued by Furies for killing his mother,\nClytemnestra, who had murdered Agamemnon.\n\nPYLADES, Prince of Phocis, friend to Orestes.\n\nTHOAS, King of Tauris, a savage country beyond the Symplegades.\n\nA HERDSMAN.\n\nA MESSENGER.\n\nCHORUS of Captive Greek Women, handmaids to Iphigenia.\n\nThe Goddess PALLAS ATHENA.\n\nThe play was first performed between the years 414 and 412 B.C.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS\n\n\n[The Scene shows a great and barbaric Temple on a\ndesolate sea-coast. An altar is visible stained with\nblood. There are spoils of slain men hanging from\nthe roof. IPHIGENIA, in the dress of a Priestess,\ncomes out from the Temple.]\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nChild of the man of torment and of pride\nTantalid Pelops bore a royal bride\nOn flying steeds from Pisa. Thence did spring\nAtreus: from Atreus, linked king with king,\nMenelaus, Agamemnon. His am I\nAnd Clytemnestra's child: whom cruelly\nAt Aulis, where the strait of shifting blue\nFrets with quick winds, for Helen's sake he slew,\nOr thinks to have slain; such sacrifice he swore\nTo Artemis on that deep-bosomed shore.\n  For there Lord Agamemnon, hot with joy\nTo win for Greece the crown of conquered Troy,\nFor Menelaus' sake through all distress\nPursuing Helen's vanished loveliness,\nGathered his thousand ships from every coast\nOf Hellas: when there fell on that great host\nStorms and despair of sailing. Then the King\nSought signs of fire, and Calchas answering\n\nSpake thus: \"O Lord of Hellas, from this shore\nNo ship of thine may move for evermore,\nTill Artemis receive in gift of blood\nThy child, Iphigenia. Long hath stood\nThy vow, to pay to Her that bringeth light\nWhatever birth most fair by day or night\nThe year should bring. That year thy queen did bear\nA child--whom here I name of all most fair.\nSee that she die.\"\n\n              So from my mother's side\nBy lies Odysseus won me, to be bride\nIn Aulis to Achilles. When I came,\nThey took me and above the altar flame\nHeld, and the sword was swinging to the gash,\nWhen, lo, out of their vision in a flash\nArtemis rapt me, leaving in my place\nA deer to bleed; and on through a great space\nOf shining sky upbore and in this town\nOf Tauris the Unfriended set me down;\nWhere o'er a savage people savagely\nKing Thoas rules. This is her sanctuary\nAnd I her priestess. Therefore, by the rite\nOf worship here, wherein she hath delight--\nThough fair in naught but name. ... But Artemis\nIs near; I speak no further. Mine it is\nTo consecrate and touch the victim's hair;\nDoings of blood unspoken are the care\nOf others, where her inmost chambers lie.\nAh me!\nBut what dark dreams, thou clear and morning sky,\nI have to tell thee, can that bring them ease!\nMeseemed in sleep, far over distant seas,\nI lay in Argos, and about me slept\nMy maids: and, lo, the level earth was swept\nWith quaking like the sea. Out, out I fled,\nAnd, turning, saw the cornice overhead\nReel, and the beams and mighty door-trees down\nIn blocks of ruin round me overthrown.\nOne single oaken pillar, so I dreamed,\nStood of my father's house; and hair, meseemed,\nWaved from its head all brown: and suddenly\nA human voice it had, and spoke. And I,\nFulfilling this mine office, built on blood\nOf unknown men, before that pillar stood,\nAnd washed him clean for death, mine eyes astream\nWith weeping.\n\n          And this way I read my dream.\nOrestes is no more: on him did fall\nMy cleansing drops.--The pillar of the hall\nMust be the man first-born; and they, on whom\nMy cleansing falls, their way is to the tomb.\n  Therefore to my dead brother will I pour\nSuch sacrifice, I on this bitter shore\nAnd he beyond great seas, as still I may,\nWith all those maids whom Thoas bore away\nIn war from Greece and gave me for mine own.\nBut wherefore come they not? I must be gone\nAnd wait them in the temple, where I dwell.\n\n[She goes into the Temple.]\n\nVOICE.\nDid some one cross the pathway? Guard thee well.\n\nANOTHER VOICE.\nI am watching. Every side I turn mine eye.\n\n(Enter ORESTES and PYLADES. Their dress shows fhey\nare travellers ORESTES is shaken and distraught.)\n\nORESTES.\nHow, brother? And is this the sanctuary\nAt last, for which we sailed from Argolis?\n\nPYLADES.\nFor sure, Orestes. Seest thou not it is?\n\nORESTES.\nThe altar, too, where Hellene blood is shed.\n\nPYLADES.\nHow like long hair those blood-stains, tawny red!\n\nORESTES.\nAnd spoils of slaughtered men--there by the thatch.\n\nPYLADES.\nAye, first-fruits of the harvest, when they catch\nTheir strangers!--'Tis a place to search with care\n\n[He searches, while ORESTES sits.]\n\nORESTES.\nO God, where hast thou brought me? What new snare\nIs this?--I slew my mother; I avenged\nMy father at thy bidding; I have ranged\nA homeless world, hunted by shapes of pain,\nAnd circling trod in mine own steps again.\nAt last I stood once more before thy throne\nAnd cried thee question, what thing should be done\nTo end these miseries, wherein I reel\nThrough Hellas, mad, lashed like a burning wheel;\nAnd thou didst bid me seek ... what land but this\nOf Tauri, where thy sister Artemis\nHer altar hath, and seize on that divine\nImage which fell, men say, into this shrine\nFrom heaven. This I must seize by chance or plot\nOr peril--clearer word was uttered not--\nAnd bear to Attic earth. If this be done,\nI should have peace from all my malison.\n\n  Lo, I have done thy will. I have pierced the seas\nWhere no Greek man may live.--Ho, Pylades,\nSole sharer of my quest: hast seen it all?\nWhat can we next? Thou seest this circuit wall\nEnormous? Must we climb the public stair,\nWith all men watching? Shall we seek somewhere\nSome lock to pick, some secret bolt or bar--\nOf all which we know nothing? Where we are,\nIf one man mark us, if they see us prize\nThe gate, or think of entrance anywise,\n'Tis death.--We still have time to fly for home:\nBack to the galley quick, ere worse things come!\n\nPYLADES.\nTo fly we dare not, brother. 'Twere a thing\nNot of our custom; and ill work, to bring\nGod's word to such reviling.--Let us leave\nThe temple now, and gather in some cave\nWhere glooms the cool sea ripple. But not where\nThe ship lies; men might chance to see her there\nAnd tell some chief; then certain were our doom.\nBut when the fringed eye of Night be come\nThen we must dare, by all ways foul or fine,\nTo thieve that wondrous Image from its shrine.\nAh, see; far up, between each pair of beams\nA hollow one might creep through! Danger gleams\nLike sunshine to a brave man's eyes, and fear\nOf what may be is no help anywhere.\n\nORESTES.\nAye; we have never braved these leagues of way\nTo falter at the end. See, I obey\nThy words. They are ever wise. Let us go mark\nSome cavern, to lie hid till fall of dark.\nGod will not suffer that bad things be stirred\nTo mar us now, and bring to naught the word\nHimself hath spoke. Aye, and no peril brings\nPardon for turning back to sons of kings.\n\n[They go out towards the shore. After they\nare gone, enter gradually the WOMEN]\n\nOF THE CHORUS.\n\nCHORUS.\nPeace! Peace upon all who dwell\nBy the Sister Rocks that clash in the swell\n     Of the Friendless Seas.\n\n  O Child of Leto, thou,\n  Dictynna mountain-born,\n  To the cornice gold-inlaid\n  To the pillared sanctities,\n  We come in the cold of morn,\n  We come with virgin brow,\n  Pure as our oath was sworn,\n  Handmaids of thine handmaid\n  Who holdeth the stainless keys,\n\n  From Hellas, that once was ours,\n  We come before thy gate,\n  From the land of the western seas,\n  The horses and the towers,\n  The wells and the garden trees,\n  And the seats where our fathers sate.\n\nLEADER.\nWhat tidings, ho? With what intent\n  Hast called me to thy shrine and thee,\n  O child of him who crossed the sea\nTo Troy with that great armament,\nThe thousand prows, the myriad swords?\nI come, O child of Atreid Lords.\n\n[IPHIGENIA, followed by ATTENDANTS, comes from the Temple.]\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n     Alas, O maidens mine,\n     I am filled full of tears:\n     My heart filled with the beat\n     Of tears, as of dancing feet,\nA lyreless joyless line,\nAnd music meet for the dead.\n\nFor a whisper is in mine ears,\nBy visions borne on the breath\nOf the Night that now is fled,\nOf a brother gone to death.\nOh sorrow and weeping sore,\n  For the house that no more is,\nFor the dead that were kings of yore\n  And the labour of Argolis!\n\n[She begins the Funeral Rite.]\n\nO Spirit, thou unknown,\n  Who bearest on dark wings\nMy brother, my one, mine own,\n  I bear drink-offerings,\nAnd the cup that bringeth ease\n  Flowing through Earth's deep breast;\nMilk of the mountain kine,\nThe hallowed gleam of wine,\nThe toil of murmuring bees:\n  By these shall the dead have rest.\n\nTo an ATTENDANT.\n\nThe golden goblet let me pour,\nAnd that which Hades thirsteth for.\n\nO branch of Agamemnon's tree\n  Beneath the earth, as to one dead,\nThis cup of love I pour to thee.\n  Oh, pardon, that I may not shed\n\nOne lock of hair to wreathe thy tomb,\n  One tear: so far, so far am I\nFrom what to me and thee was home,\n  And where in all men's fantasy,\n  Butchered, O God! I also lie.\n\nCHORUS.\n\nWoe; woe: I too with refluent melody,\n  An echo wild of the dirges of the Asian,\nI, thy bond maiden, cry to answer thee:\n The music that lieth hid in lamentation,\nThe song that is heard in the deep hearts of the dead,\n  That the Lord of dead men 'mid his dancing singeth,\n  And never joy-cry, never joy it bringeth;\n  Woe for the house of Kings in desolation,\nWoe for the light of the sceptre vanished.\n\nFrom kings in Argos of old, from joyous kings,\n          The beginning came:\nThen peril swift upon peril, flame on flame:\nThe dark and wheeling coursers, as wild with wings,\nThe cry of one betrayed on a drowning shore,\nThe sun that blanched in heaven, the world that\n        changed--\nEvil on evil and none alone!--deranged\nBy the Golden Lamb and the wrong grown ever more;\nBlood following blood, sorrow on sorrow sore!\nSo come the dead of old, the dead in wrath,\nBack on the seed of the high Tantalidae;\nSurely the Spirit of Life an evil path\n                  Hath hewed for thee.\nIPHIGENIA.\nFrom the beginning the Spirit of my life\nWas an evil spirit. Alas for my mother's zone,\nAnd the night that bare me! From the beginning\n  Strife,\nAs a book to read, Fate gave me for mine own.\nThey wooed a bride for the strikers down of Troy--\nThy first-born, Mother: was it for this, thy prayer?--\nA hind of slaughter to die in a father's snare,\nGift of a sacrifice where none hath joy.\n\n    They set me on a royal wane;\n      Down the long sand they led me on,\n    A bride new-decked, a bride of bane,\n      In Aulis to the Nereid's son.\n    And now estranged for evermore\n      Beyond the far estranging foam\n    I watch a flat and herbless shore,\n      Unloved, unchilded, without home\n    Or city: never more to meet\n      For Hera's dance with Argive maids,\n    Nor round the loom 'mid singing sweet\n      Make broideries and storied braids,\n  Of writhing giants overthrown\n  And clear-eyed Pallas ... All is gone!\n  Red hands and ever-ringing ears:\n  The blood of men that friendless die,\n  The horror of the strangers' cry\n  Unheard, the horror of their tears.\n\n  But now, let even that have rest:\n  I weep for him in Argos slain,\n    The brother whom I knew, Ah me,\n    A babe, a flower; and yet to be--\n    There on his mother's arms and breast--\n    The crowned Orestes, lord of men!\n\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS.\nStay, yonder from some headland of the sea\nThere comes--methinks a herdsman, seeking thee.\n\n(Enter a HERDSMAN. IPHIGENIA is still on her knees.)\n\nHERDSMAN.\nDaughter of Clytemnestra and her king,\nGive ear! I bear news of a wondrous thing.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhat news, that should so mar my obsequies?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nA ship hath passed the blue Symplegades,\nAnd here upon our coast two men are thrown,\nYoung, bold, good slaughter for the altar-stone\nOf Artemis!\n\n[SHE RISES.]\n\n        Make all the speed ye may;\n'Tis not too much. The blood-bowl and the spray!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMen of what nation? Doth their habit show?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nHellenes for sure, but that is all we know.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNo name? No other clue thine ear could seize?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nWe heard one call his comrade \"Pylades.\"\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nYes. And the man who spoke--his name was what?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nNone of us heard. I think they spoke it not.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHow did ye see them first, how make them fast?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nDown by the sea, just where the surge is cast ...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe sea? What is the sea to thee and thine?\n\nHERDSMAN.\nWe came to wash our cattle in the brine.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nGo back, and tell how they were taken; show\nThe fashion of it, for I fain would know\nAll.--'Tis so long a time, and never yet,\nNever, hath Greek blood made this altar wet.\n\nHERDSMAN.\nWe had brought our forest cattle where the seas\nBreak in long tides from the Symplegades.\nA bay is there, deep eaten by the surge\nAnd hollowed clear, with cover by the verge\nWhere purple-fishers camp. These twain were there\nWhen one of mine own men, a forager,\nSpied them, and tiptoed whispering back: \"God save\nUs now! Two things unearthly by the wave\nSitting!\" We looked, and one of pious mood\nRaised up his hands to heaven and praying stood:\n\"Son of the white Sea Spirit, high in rule,\nStorm-lord Palaemon, Oh, be merciful:\nOr sit ye there the warrior twins of Zeus,\nOr something loved of Him, from whose great thews\nWas-born the Nereids' fifty-fluted choir.\"\n  Another, flushed with folly and the fire\nOf lawless daring, laughed aloud and swore\n'Twas shipwrecked sailors skulking on the shore,\nOur rule and custom here being known, to slay\nAll strangers. And most thought this was the way\nTo follow, and seek out for Artemis\nThe blood-gift of our people.\n\n                              Just at this\nOne of the strangers started from his seat,\nAnd stood, and upward, downward, with a beat\nHis head went, and he groaned, and all his arm\nTrembled. Then, as a hunter gives alarm,\nHe shrieked, stark mad and raving: \"Pylades,\nDost see her there?--And there--Oh, no one sees!--\nA she-dragon of Hell, and all her head\nAgape with fanged asps, to bite me dead.\nShe hath no face, but somewhere from her cloak\nBloweth a wind of fire and bloody smoke:\nThe wings' beat fans it: in her arms, Ah see!\nMy mother, dead grey stone, to cast on me\nAnd crush ... Help, help! They crowd on me\n  behind ...\"\n\n  No shapes at all were there. 'Twas his sick mind\nWhich turned the herds that lowed and barking hounds\nThat followed, to some visionary sounds\nOf Furies. For ourselves, we did but sit\nAnd watch in silence, wondering if the fit\nWould leave him dead. When suddenly out shone\nHis sword, and like a lion he leaped upon\nOur herds, to fight his Furies! Flank and side\nHe stabbed and smote them, till the foam was dyed\nRed at the waves' edge. Marry, when we saw\nThe cattle hurt and falling, no more law\nWe gave, but sprang to arms and blew the horn\nFor help--so strong they looked and nobly born\nFor thralls like us to meet, that pair unknown.\n\n  Well, a throng gathered ere much time was gone;\nWhen suddenly the whirl of madness slips\nFrom off him and he falls, quite weak, his lips\nDropping with foam. When once we saw him fall\nSo timely, we were at him one and all\nTo pelt and smite. The other watched us come,\nBut knelt and wiped those lips all dank with foam\nAnd tended the sick body, while he held\nHis cloak's good web above him for a shield;\nSo cool he was to ward off every stone\nAnd all the while care for that stricken one.\n\n  Then rose the fallen man, calm now and grave,\nLooked, and saw battle bursting like a wave\nThat bursts, and knew that peril close at hand\nWhich now is come, and groaned. On every hand\nWe stood, and stoned and stoned, and ceased not. Aye,\n'Twas then we heard that fearful battle-cry:\n\"Ho, Pylades, 'tis death! But let it be\nA gallant death! Draw sword and follow me.\"\n\n  When those two swords came flashing, up the glen\nThrough the loose rocks we scattered back; but when\nOne band was flying, down by rocks and trees\nCame others pelting: did they turn on these,\nBack stole the first upon them, stone on stone.\n'Twas past belief: of all those shots not one\nStruck home. The goddess kept her fated prey\nPerfect. Howbeit, at last we made our way\nRight, left and round behind them on the sands,\nAnd rushed, and beat the swords out of their hands,\nSo tired they scarce could stand. Then to the king\nWe bore them both, and he, not tarrying,\nSends them to thee, to touch with holy spray--\nAnd then the blood-bowl!\n\n                     I have heard thee pray,\nPriestess, ere now for such a draft as this.\nAye, slay but these two chiefs to Artemis\nAnd Hellas shall have paid thy debt, and know\nWhat blood was spilt in Aulis long ago.\n\nLEADER.\nI marvel that one mad, whoe'er he be,\nShould sail from Hellas to the Friendless Sea.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Tis well. Let thy hand bring them, and mine own\nShall falter not till here God's will be done.\n\n[EXIT HERDSMAN.]\n\nO suffering heart, not fierce thou wast of old\nTo shipwrecked men. Nay, pities manifold\nHeld thee in fancy homeward, lest thy hand\nAt last should fall on one of thine own land.\nBut now, for visions that have turned to stone\nMy heart, to know Orestes sees the sun\nNo more, a cruel woman waits you here,\nWhoe'er ye be, and one without a tear.\n  'Tis true: I know by mine own evil will:\nOne long in pain, if things more suffering still\nFall to his hand, will hate them for his own\nTorment ... And no great wind hath ever blown,\nNo ship from God hath passed the Clashing Gate,\nTo bring me Helen, who hath earned my hate,\nAnd Menelaus, till I mocked their prayers\nIn this new Aulis, that is mine, not theirs:\nWhere Greek hands held me lifted, like a beast\nFor slaughter, and my throat bled. And the priest\nMy father! ... Not one pang have I forgot.\n  Ah me, the blind half-prisoned arms I shot\nThis way and that, to find his beard, his knees,\nGroping and wondering: \"Father, what are these\nFor bridal rites? My mother even now\nMid Argive women sings for me, whom thou ...\nWhat dost thou? She sings happy songs, and all\nIs dance and sound of piping in the hall;\nAnd here ... Is he a vampyre, is he one\nThat fattens on the dead, thy Peleus' son--\nWhose passion shaken like a torch before\nMy leaping chariot, lured me to this shore\nTo wed--\"\n         Ah me! And I had hid my face,\nBurning, behind my veil. I would not press\nOrestes to my arms ... who now is slain! ...\nI would not kiss my sister's lips again,\nFor shame and fulness of the heart to meet\nMy bridegroom. All my kisses, all my sweet\nWords were stored up and hid: I should come back\nSo soon to Argos!\n                  And thou, too: alack,\nBrother, if dead thou art, from what high things\nThy youth is outcast, and the pride of kings\nFallen!\n       And this the goddess deemeth good!\nIf ever mortal hand be dark with blood;\nNay, touch a new-made mother or one slain\nIn war, her ban is on him. 'Tis a stain\nShe driveth from her outer walls; and then\nHerself doth drink this blood of slaughtered men?\nCould ever Leto, she of the great King\nBeloved, be mother to so gross a thing?\nThese tales be lies, false as those feastings wild\nOf Tantalus and Gods that tore a child.\nThis land of murderers to its god hath given\nIts own lust; evil dwelleth not in heaven.\n\n[SHE GOES INTO THE TEMPLE.]\n\nCHORUS.\n\n  Dark of the sea, dark of the sea,    [STROPHE 1.]\n    Gates of the warring water,\n  One, in the old time, conquered you,\n  A winged passion that burst the blue,\n  When the West was shut and the Dawn lay free\n    To the pain of Inachus' daughter.\nBut who be these, from where the rushes blow\nOn pale Eurotas, from pure Dirce's flow,\n  That turn not neither falter,\nSeeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread,\nHer without pity, round whose virgin head\nBlood on the pillars rusts from long ago,\n  Blood on the ancient altar.\n                                     [ANTISTROPHE 1.]\nA flash of the foam, a flash of the foam,\n  A wave on the oarblade welling,\nAnd out they passed to the heart of the blue:\nA chariot shell that the wild winds drew.\nIs it for passion of gold they come,\n  Or pride to make great their dwelling?\n\nFor sweet is Hope, yea, to much mortal woe\nSo sweet that none may turn from it nor go,\n  Whom once the far voice calleth,\nTo wander through fierce peoples and the gleam\nOf desolate seas, in every heart a dream:\nAnd these she maketh empty die, and, lo,\n  To that man's hand she falleth.\n\n[STROPHE 2.]\n\n  Through the Clashing Rocks they burst:\n    They passed by the Cape unsleeping\n  Of Phineus' sons accurst:\n  They ran by the star-lit bay\n    Upon magic surges sweeping,\n  Where folk on the waves astray\n  Have seen, through the gleaming grey,\n  Ring behind ring, men say,\n    The dance of the old Sea's daughters.\n\n  The guiding oar abaft\n    It rippled and it dinned,\n  And now the west wind laughed\n    And now the south-west wind;\n  And the sail was full in flight,\n  And they passed by the Island White:\n\n  Birds, birds, everywhere,\n  White as the foam, light as the air;\n  And ghostly Achilles raceth there,\n    Far in the Friendless Waters.\n                                 [ANTISTROPHE 1.]\n  Ah, would that Leda's child ...\n    (So prayeth the priestess maiden)\n  From Troy, that she beguiled,\n  Hither were borne, to know\n    What sin on her soul is laden!\n  Hair twisted, throat held low,\n  Head back for the blood to flow,\n  To die by the sword. ... Ah no!\n    One hope my soul yet hideth.\n\n  A sail, a sail from Greece,\n    Fearless to cross the sea,\n  With ransom and with peace\n    To my sick captivity.\n  O home, to see thee still,\n  And the old walls on the hill!\n\n  Dreams, dreams, gather to me!\n  Bear me on wings over the sea;\n  O joy of the night, to slave and free,\n    One good thing that abideth!\n\nLEADER.\n  But lo, the twain whom Thoas sends,\n    Their arms in bondage grasped sore;\n    Strange offering this, to lay before\n  The Goddess! Hold your peace, O friends.\n\n  Onward, still onward, to this shrine\n    They lead the first-fruits of the Greek.\n    'Twas true, the tale he came to speak,\n  That watcher of the mountain kine.\n\n  O holy one, if it afford\n    Thee joy, what these men bring to thee,\n    Take thou their sacrifice, which we,\n  By law of Hellas, hold abhorred.\n\n[Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, bound, and guarded by\n  taurians. re-enter IPHIGENIA.]\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nSo be it.\nMy foremost care must be that nothing harms\nThe temple's holy rule.--Untie their arms.\nThat which is hallowed may no more be bound.\nYou, to the shrine within! Let all be found\nAs the law bids, and as we need this day.\n\n[ORESTES and PYLADES are set free; some\nATTENDANTS go into the temple.]\n\nAh me!\nWhat mother then was yours, O strangers, say,\nAnd father? And your sister, if you have\nA sister: both at once, so young and brave\nTo leave her brotherless! Who knows when heaven\nMay send that fortune? For to none is given\nTo know the coming nor the end of woe;\nSo dark is God, and to great darkness go\nHis paths, by blind chance mazed from our ken.\n  Whence are ye come, O most unhappy men?\nFrom some far home, methinks, ye have found this shore\nAnd far shall stay from home for evermore.\n\nORESTES.\nWhy weepest thou, woman, to make worse the smart\nOf that which needs must be, whoe'er thou art?\nI count it not for gentleness, when one\nWho means to slay, seeks first to make undone\nBy pity that sharp dread. Nor praise I him,\nWith hope long dead, who sheddeth tears to dim\nThe pain that grips him close. The evil so\nIs doubled into twain. He doth but show\nHis feeble heart, and, as he must have died,\nDies.--Let ill fortune float upon her tide\nAnd weep no more for us. What way this land\nWorships its god we know and understand.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nSay first ... which is it men call Pylades?\n\nORESTES.\n'Tis this man's name, if that will give thee ease.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFrom what walled town of Hellas cometh he?\n\nORESTES.\nEnough!--How would the knowledge profit thee?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAre ye two brethren of one mother born?\n\nORESTES.\nNo, not in blood. In love we are brothers sworn.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThou also hast a name: tell me thereof.\n\nORESTES.\nCall me Unfortunate. 'Tis name enough.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI asked not that. Let that with Fortune lie.\n\nORESTES.\nFools cannot laugh at them that nameless die.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhy grudge me this? Hast thou such mighty fame?\n\nORESTES.\nMy body, if thou wilt, but not my name.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNor yet the land of Greece where thou wast bred?\n\nORESTES.\nWhat gain to have told it thee, when I am dead?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNay: why shouldst thou deny so small a grace?\n\nORESTES.\nKnow then, great Argos was my native place.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nStranger! The truth! ... From Argos art thou come?\n\nORESTES.\nMycenae, once a rich land, was my home.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Tis banishment that brings thee here--or what?\n\nORESTES.\nA kind of banishment, half forced, half sought.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWouldst thou but tell me all I need of thee!\n\nORESTES.\n'Twere not much added to my misery.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFrom Argos! ... Oh, how sweet to see thee here!\n\nORESTES.\nEnjoy it, then. To me 'tis sorry cheer.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThou knowest the name of Troy? Far doth it flit.\n\nORESTES.\nWould God I had not; nay, nor dreamed of it.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMen fable it is fallen beneath the sword?\n\nORESTES.\nFallen it is. Thou hast heard no idle word.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFallen! At last!--And Helen taken too?\n\nORESTES.\nAye; on an evil day for one I knew.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhere is she? I too have some anger stored ...\n\nORESTES.\nIn Sparta! Once more happy with her lord!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nOh. hated of all Greece, not only me!\n\nORESTES.\nI too have tasted of her wizardry.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd came the armies home, as the tales run?\n\nORESTES.\nTo answer that were many tales in one.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nOh, give me this hour full! Thou wilt soon die.\n\nORESTES.\nAsk, if such longing holds thee. I will try.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nA seer called Calchas! Did he ever come ...?\n\nORESTES.\n\nCalchas is dead, as the news went at home.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nGood news, ye gods!--Odysseus, what of him?\n\nORESTES.\n\nNot home yet, but still living, as men deem.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nCurse him! And may he see his home no more.\n\nORESTES.\n\nWhy curse him? All his house is stricken sore.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nHow hath the Nereid's son, Achilles, sped?\n\nORESTES.\n\nSmall help his bridal brought him! He is dead.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nA fierce bridal, so the sufferers tell!\n\nORESTES.\n\nWho art thou, questioning of Greece so well?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nI was Greek. Evil caught me long ago.\n\nORESTES.\nSmall wonder, then, thou hast such wish to know.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThat war-lord, whom they call so high in bliss...\n\nORESTES.\nNone such is known to me. What name was his?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThey called him Agamemnon, Atreus' son.\n\nORESTES.\nI know not. Cease.--My questioning is done.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Twill be such joy to me! How fares he? Tell!\n\nORESTES.\nDead. And hath wrecked another's life as well.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nDead? By what dreadful fortune? Woe is me!\n\nORESTES.\nWhy sighst thou? Had he any link with thee?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI did but think of his old joy and pride.\n\nORESTES.\nHis own wife foully stabbed him, and he died.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nO God!\nI pity her that slew ... and him that slew.\n\nORESTES.\nNow cease thy questions. Add no word thereto.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nBut one word. Lives she still, that hapless wife?\n\nORESTES.\nNo. Her own son, her first-born, took her life.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nO shipwrecked house! What thought was in his brain?\n\nORESTES.\nJustice on her, to avenge his father slain.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAlas!\nA bad false duty bravely hath he wrought.\n\nORESTES.\nYet God, for all his duty, helps him not.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd not one branch of Atreus' tree lives on?\n\nORESTES.\nElectra lives, unmated and alone.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe child they slaughtered ... is there word of her?\n\nORESTES.\nWhy, no, save that she died in Aulis there.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nPoor child! Poor father, too, who killed and lied!\n\nORESTES.\nFor a bad woman's worthless sake she died.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe dead king's son, lives he in Argos still?\n\nORESTES.\nHe lives, now here, now nowhere, bent with ill.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nO dreams, light dreams, farewell! Ye too were lies.\n\nORESTES.\nAye; the gods too, whom mortals deem so wise,\nAre nothing clearer than some winged dream;\nAnd all their ways, like man's ways, but a stream\nOf turmoil. He who cares to suffer least,\nNot blind, as fools are blinded, by a priest,\nGoes straight... to what death, those who know him know.\n\nLEADER.\nWe too have kinsmen dear, but, being low,\nNone heedeth, live they still or live they not.\n\nIPHIGENIA (WITH SUDDEN IMPULSE).\nListen! For I am fallen upon a thought,\nStrangers, of some good use to you and me,\nBoth. And 'tis thus most good things come to be,\nWhen different eyes hold the same for fair.\n\n  Stranger, if I can save thee, wilt thou bear\nTo Argos and the friends who loved my youth\nSome word? There is a tablet which, in truth\nFor me and mine ill works, a prisoner wrote,\nTa'en by the king in war. He knew 'twas not\nMy will that craved for blood, but One on high\nWho holds it righteous her due prey shall die.\nAnd since that day no Greek hath ever come\nWhom I could save and send to Argos home\nWith prayer for help to any friend: but thou,\nI think, dost loathe me not; and thou dost know\nMycenae and the names that fill my heart.\nHelp me! Be saved! Thou also hast thy part,\nSending Completed Page, Please Wait ...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Tis I. This altar's spell is over me.\n\nORESTES.\nA grievous office and unblest, O maid.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhat dare I do? The law must be obeyed.\n\nORESTES.\nA girl to hold a sword and stab men dead!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI shall but sign the water on thy head.\n\nORESTES.\nAnd who shall strike me, if I needs must ask?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThere be within these vaults who know their task.\n\nORESTES.\nMy grave, when they have finished their desire?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nA great gulf of the rock, and holy fire.\n\nORESTES.\nWoe's me!\nWould that my sister's hand could close mine eyes!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAlas, she dwelleth under distant skies,\nUnhappy one, and vain is all thy prayer.\nYet, Oh, them art from Argos: all of care\nThat can be, I will give and fail thee not.\nRich raiment to thy burial shall be brought,\nAnd oil to cool thy pyre in golden floods,\nAnd sweet that from a thousand mountain buds\nThe murmuring bee hath garnered, I will throw\nTo die with thee in fragrance. ...\n                                 I must go\nAnd seek the tablet from the Goddess' room\nWithin.--Oh, do not hate me for my doom!\n\n  Watch them, ye servitors, but leave them free.\n\nIt may be, past all hoping, it may be,\nMy word shall sail to Argos, to his hand\nWhom most I love. How joyous will he stand\nTo know, past hope, that here on the world's rim\nHis dead are living, and cry out for him!\n\n[She goes into the Temple.]\n\nCHORUS.\nAlas, we pity thee; surely we pity thee:      [Strophe.]\n  Who art given over to the holy water,\n    The drops that fall deadly as drops of blood.\n\nORESTES.\nI weep not, ye Greek maidens: but farewell.\n\nCHORUS.\n\n[ANTISTROPHE.]\n\nAye, and rejoice with thee; surely rejoice with thee,\n  Thou happy rover from the place of slaughter;\n    Thy foot shall stand again where thy father's\n        stood.\n\nPYLADES.\nWhile he I love must die? 'Tis miserable.\n\nDIVERS WOMEN OF THE CHORUS.\nA. Alas, the deathward faring of the lost!\nB. Woe, woe; thou too shalt move to misery.\nC  Which one shall suffer most?\nD. My heart is torn by two words evenly,\n   For thee should I most sorrow, or for thee?\n\nORESTES.\nBy heaven, is THY thought, Pylades, like mine?\n\nPYLADES.\nO friend, I cannot speak.--But what is thine?\n\nORESTES.\nWho can the damsel be? How Greek her tone\nOf question, all of Ilion overthrown,\nAnd how the kings came back, the wizard flame\nOf Calchas, and Achilles' mighty name,\nAnd ill-starred Agamemnon. With a keen\nPity she spoke, and asked me of his queen\nAnd children ... The strange woman comes from\n    there\nBy race, an Argive maid.--What aileth her\nWith tablets, else, and questionings as though\nHer own heart beat with Argos' joy or woe?\n\nPYLADES.\nThy speech is quicker, friend, else I had said\nThe same; though surely all men visited\nBy ships have heard the fall of the great kings.\nBut let that be: I think of other things ...\n\nORESTES.\nWhat? If thou hast need of me, let it be said.\n\nPYLADES.\nI cannot live for shame if thou art dead.\nI sailed together with thee; let us die\nTogether. What a coward slave were I,\nCreeping through Argos and from glen to glen\nOf wind-torn Phocian hills! And most of men--\nFor most are bad--will whisper how one day\nI left my friend to die and made my way\nHome. They will say I watched the sinking breath\nOf thy great house and plotted for thy death\nTo wed thy sister, climb into thy throne...\nI dread, I loathe it.--Nay, all ways but one\nAre shut. My last breath shall go forth with thine,\nThy bloody sword, thy gulf of fire be mine\nAlso. I love thee and I dread men's scorn.\n\nORESTES.\nPeace from such thoughts! My burden can be borne;\nBut where one pain sufficeth, double pain\nI will not bear. Nay, all that scorn and stain\nThat fright thee, on mine own head worse would be\nIf I brought death on him who toiled for me.\nIt is no bitter thing for such an one\nAs God will have me be, at last to have done\nWith living. THOU art happy; thy house lies\nAt peace with God, unstained in men's eyes;\nMine is all evil fate and evil life ...\nNay, thou once safe, my sister for thy wife--\nSo we agreed:--in sons of hers and thine\nMy name will live, nor Agamemnon's line\nBe blurred for ever like an evil scroll.\nBack! Rule thy land! Let life be in thy soul!\nAnd when thou art come to Hellas, and the plain\nOf Argos where the horsemen ride, again--\nGive me thy hand!--I charge thee, let there be\nSome death-mound and a graven stone for me.\nMy sister will go weep thereat, and shear\nA tress or two. Say how I ended here,\nSlain by a maid of Argolis, beside\nGod's altar, in mine own blood purified.\n\n  And fare thee well. I have no friend like thee\nFor truth and love, O boy that played with me,\nAnd hunted on Greek hills, O thou on whom\nHath lain the hardest burden of my doom!\nFarewell. The Prophet and the Lord of Lies\nHath done his worst. Far out from Grecian skies\nWith craft forethought he driveth me, to die\nWhere none may mark how ends his prophecy!\nI trusted in his word. I gave him all\nMy heart. I slew my mother at his call;\nFor which things now he casts me here to die.\n\nPYLADES.\nThy tomb shall fail thee not. Thy sister I\nWill guard for ever. I, O stricken sore,\nWho loved thee living and shall love thee more\nDead. But for all thou standest on the brink,\nGod's promise hath not yet destroyed thee. Think!\nHow oft, how oft the darkest hour of ill\nBreaks brightest into dawn, if Fate but will!\n\nORESTES.\nEnough. Nor god nor man can any more\nAid me. The woman standeth at the door.\n\n[enter IPHIGENIA from the Temple.]\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nGo ye within; and have all things of need\nIn order set for them that do the deed.\nThere wait my word.\n\n[ATTENDANTS go in.]\n\n            Ye strangers, here I hold\nThe many-lettered tablet, fold on fold.\nYet ... one thing still. No man, once unafraid\nAnd safe, remembereth all the vows he made\nIn fear of death. My heart misgiveth me,\nLest he who bears my tablet, once gone free,\nForget me here and set my charge at naught.\n\nORESTES.\nWhat wouldst thou, then? Thou hast some troubling thought.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHis sworn oath let him give, to bear this same\nTablet to Argos, to the friend I name.\n\nORESTES.\nAnd if he give this oath, wilt thou swear too?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhat should I swear to do or not to do?\n\nORESTES.\nSend him from Tauris safe and free from ill.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI promise. How else could he do my will?\n\nORESTES.\nThe King will suffer this?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                 Yes: I can bend\nThe King, and set upon his ship thy friend.\n\nORESTES.\nChoose then what oath is best, and he will swear.\n\nIPHIGENIA (to PYLADES, who has come up to her).\nSay: \"To thy friend this tablet I will bear.\"\n\nPYLADES (TAKING THE TABLET).\nGood. I will bear this tablet to thy friend.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd I save thee beyond this kingdom's end.\n\nPYLADES.\nWhat god dost thou invoke to witness this?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHer in whose house I labour, Artemis.\n\nPYLADES.\nAnd I the Lord of Heaven, eternal Zeus.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd if thou fail me, or thine oath abuse ...?\n\nPYLADES.\nMay I see home no more. And thou, what then?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMay this foot never tread Greek earth again.\n\nPYLADES.\nBut stay: there is one chance we have forgot.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nA new oath can be sworn, if this serve not.\n\nPYLADES.\nIn one case set me free. Say I be crossed\nWith shipwreck, and, with ship and tablet lost\nAnd all I bear, my life be saved alone:\nLet not this oath be held a thing undone,\nTo curse me.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n            Nay, then, many ways are best\nTo many ends. The words thou carriest\nEnrolled and hid beneath that tablet's rim,\nI will repeat to thee, and thou to him\nI look for. Safer so. If the scrip sail\nUnhurt to Greece, itself will tell my tale\nUnaided: if it drown in some wide sea,\nSave but thyself, my words are saved with thee.\n\nPYLADES.\nFor thy sake and for mine 'tis fairer so.\nNow let me hear his name to whom I go\nIn Argolis, and how my words should run.\n\nIPHIGENIA (REPEATING THE WORDS BY HEART).\nSay: \"To Orestes, Agamemnon's son\nShe that was slain in Aulis, dead to Greece\nYet quick, Iphigenia sendeth peace:\"\n\nORESTES.\nIphigenia! Where? Back from the dead?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Tis I. But speak not, lest thou break my thread.--\n\"Take me to Argos, brother, ere I die,\nBack from the Friendless Peoples and the high\nAltar of Her whose bloody rites I wreak.\"\n\nORESTES (ASIDE).\nWhere am I, Pylades? How shall I speak?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\"Else one in grief forsaken shall, like shame,\nHaunt thee.\"\n\nPYLADES (aside).\n           Orestes!\n\nIPHIGENIA (overhearing him).\n           Yes: that is the name.\n\nPYLADES.\nYe Gods above!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n              Why callest thou on God\nFor words of mine?\n\nPYLADES.\n                  'Tis nothing. 'Twas a road\nMy thoughts had turned. Speak on.--No need for us\nTo question; we shall hear things marvellous.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nTell him that Artemis my soul did save,\nI wot not how, and to the altar gave\nA fawn instead; the which my father slew,\nNot seeing, deeming that the sword he drew\nStruck me. But she had borne me far away\nAnd left me in this land.--I charge thee, say\nSo much. It all is written on the scroll.\n\nPYLADES.\nAn easy charge thou layest on my soul,\nA glad oath on thine own. I wait no more,\nBut here fulfil the service that I swore.\n  Orestes, take this tablet which I bear\nTo thine own hand, thy sister's messenger.\n\nORESTES.\nI take it, but I reck not of its scrip\nNor message. Too much joy is at my lip.\nSister! Beloved! Wildered though I be,\nMy arms believe not, yet they crave for thee.\nNow, filled with wonder, give me my delight!\n\n[he goes to embrace her. she stands speechless.]\n\nLEADER.\nStranger, forbear! No living man hath right\nTo touch that robe. The Goddess were defiled!\n\nORESTES.\nO Sister mine, O my dead father's child,\nAgamemnon's child; take me and have no fear,\nBeyond all dreams 'tis I thy brother here.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMy brother? Thou? ... Peace! Mock at me no more.\nArgos is bright with him and Nauplia's shore.\n\nORESTES.\nUnhappy one! Thou hast no brother there.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nOrestes ... thou? Whom Clytemnestra bare?\n\nORESTES.\nTo Atreus' firstborn son, thy sire and mine.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThou sayst it: Oh, give me some proof, some sign!\n\nORESTES.\nWhat sign thou wilt. Ask anything from home.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNay, thou speak: 'tis from thee the sign should come.\n\nORESTES.\nThat will I.--First, old tales Electra told.\nThou knowest how Pelops' princes warred of old?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI know: the Golden Lamb that wrought their doom.\n\nORESTES.\nThine own hand wove that story on the loom...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHow sweet! Thou movest near old memories.\n\nORESTES.\nWith a great Sun back beaten in the skies.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFine linen threads I used. The memories come.\n\nORESTES.\nAnd mother gave thee shrift-water from home\nFor Aulis ...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n            I remember. Not so fair\nA day did drink that water!\n\nORESTES.\n                           And thine hair\nThey brought us for thy dying gift, and gave\nTo mother.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n          Yes: for record on the grave\nI sent it, where this head should never lie.\n\nORESTES.\nAnother token, seen of mine own eye.\nThe ancient lance that leapt in Pelops' hand,\nTo win his bride, the virgin of the land,\nAnd smite Oenomaus, in thy chamber hid ...\n\nIPHIGENIA (falling into his arms).\nBeloved! Oh, no other, for indeed\nBeloved art thou! In mine arms at last,\n       Orestes far away.\n\nORESTES.\nAnd thou in mine, the evil dreaming past,\n    Back from the dead this day!\nYet through the joy tears, tears and sorrow loud\nAre o'er mine eyes and thine eyes, like a cloud.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n    Is this the babe I knew,\nThe little babe, light lifted like a bird?\nO heart of mine, too blest for any word,\n    What shall I say or do?\nBeyond all wonders, beyond stories heard,\n    This joy is here and true.\n\nORESTES.\nCould we but stay thus joined for evermore!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nA joy is mine I may not understand,\nFriends, and a fear, lest sudden from my hand\n    This dream will melt and soar\nUp to the fiery skies from whence it came.\nO Argos land, O hearth and holy flame\n    That old Cyclopes lit,\nI bless ye that he lives, that he is grown,\nA light and strength, my brother and mine own;\n    I bless your name for it.\n\nORESTES.\nOne blood we are; so much is well. But Fate,\nSister, hath not yet made us fortunate.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nO most unfortunate! Did I not feel,\nWhose father, misery-hearted, at my bare\n    Throat held the steel?\n\nORESTES.\nWoe's me! Methinks even now I see thee there.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNo love-song of Achilles! Crafty arms\n    Drew me to that cold sleep,\nAnd tears, blind tears amid the altar psalms\n    And noise of them that weep--\nThat was my cleansing!\n\nORESTES.\n                      My heart too doth bleed,\nTo think our father wrought so dire a deed.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMy life hath known no father. Any road\n    To any end may run,\nAs god's will drives; else ...\n\nORESTES.\n                             Else, unhappy one,\nThyself had spilt this day thy brother's blood!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAh God, my cruel deed! ... 'Twas horrible.\n'Twas horrible ... O brother! Did my heart\n    Endure it? ... And things fell\nRight by so frail a chance; and here thou art.\n      Bloody my hand had been,\n      My heart heavy with sin.\n      And now, what end cometh?\n    Shall Chance yet comfort me,\n    Finding a way for thee\n    Back from the Friendless Strand,\n      Back from the place of death--\n    Ere yet the slayers come\n    And thy blood sink in the sand--\n    Home unto Argos, home? ...\n  Hard heart, so swift to slay,\n  Is there to life no way? ...\n\n    No ship! ... And how by land? ...\n      A rush of feet\n    Out to the waste alone.\n      Nay: 'twere to meet\n    Death, amid tribes unknown\n    And trackless ways of the waste ...\n    Surely the sea were best.\n    Back by the narrow bar\n      To the Dark Blue Gate! ...\n    Ah God, too far, too far! ...\n      Desolate! Desolate!\n\nWhat god or man, what unimagined flame,\n  Can cleave this road where no road is, and bring\nTo us last wrecks of Agamemnon's name,\n    Peace from long suffering?\n\nLEADER.\nLo, deeds of wonder and beyond surmise,\nNot as tales told, but seen of mine own eyes.\n\nPYLADES.\nMen that have found the arms of those they love\nWould fain long linger in the joy thereof.\nBut we, Orestes, have no respite yet\nFor tears or tenderness. Let us forget\nAll but the one word Freedom, calling us\nTo live, not die by altars barbarous.\nThink not of joy in this great hour, nor lose\nFortune's first hold. Not thus do wise men use.\n\nORESTES.\nI think that Fortune watcheth o'er our lives,\nSurer than we. But well said: he who strives\nWill find his gods strive for him equally.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHe shall not check us so, nor baffle me\nOf this one word. How doth Electra move\nThrough life? Ye twain are all I have to love.\n\nORESTES.\nA wife and happy: this man hath her hand.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd what man's son is he, and of what land?\n\nORESTES.\nSon of King Strophios he is called of men.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhom Atreus' daughter wed?--My kinsman then.\n\nORESTES.\nOur cousin, and my true and only friend.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nHe was not born, when I went to mine end.\n\nORESTES.\nNo, Strophios had no child for many a year.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI give thee hail, husband of one so dear.\n\nORESTES.\nMy more than kinsman, saviour in my need!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nBut mother ... Speak: how did ye dare that deed?\n\nORESTES.\nOur father's wrongs ... But let that story be.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd she to slay her king! What cause had she?\n\nORESTES.\nForget her! ... And no tale for thee it is.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nSo be it.--And thou art Lord of Argolis?\n\nORESTES.\nOur uncle rules. I walk an exile's ways.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nDoth he so trample on our fallen days?\n\nORESTES.\nNay: there be those that drive me, Shapes of Dread.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAh!\nThat frenzy on the shore! 'Tis as they said...\n\nORESTES.\nThey saw me in mine hour. It needs must be.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n'Twas our dead mother's Furies hounding thee!\n\nORESTES.\nMy mouth is bloody with the curb they ride.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhat brought thee here beyond the Friendless Tide?\n\nORESTES.\nWhat leads me everywhere--Apollo's word.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nSeeking what end?--Or may the tale be heard?\n\nORESTES.\nNay, I can tell thee all. It needs must be\nThe whole tale of my days of misery.\n  When this sore evil that we speak not of\nLit on my hand, this way and that they drove\nMy body, till the God by diverse paths\nLed me to Athens, that the nameless Wraths\nMight bring me before judgment. For that land\nA pure tribunal hath, where Ares' hand,\nRed from an ancient stain, by Zeus was sent\nFor justice. Thither came I; and there went\nGod's hate before me, that at first no man\nWould give me shelter. Then some few began\nTo pity, and set out for me aloof\nOne table. There I sate within their roof,\nBut without word they signed to me, as one\nApart, unspoken to, unlocked upon,\nLest touch of me should stain their meat and sup.\nAnd every man in measure filled his cup\nAnd gave me mine, and took their joy apart,\nWhile I sat silent; for I had no heart\nTo upbraid the hosts that fed me. On I wrought\nIn my deep pain, feigning to mark them not.\n\n  And now, men say, mine evil days are made\nA rite among them and the cups are laid\nApart for each. The rule abideth still.\n\n  Howbeit, when I was come to Ares' Hill\nThey gave me judgment. On one stone I stood,\nOn one she that was eldest of the brood\nThat hunted me so long. And many a word\nTouching my mother's death was spoke and heard,\nTill Phoebus rose to save me. Even lay\nThe votes of Death and Life; when, lo, a sway\nOf Pallas' arm, and free at last I stood\nFrom that death grapple. But the Shapes of Blood--\nSome did accept the judgment, and of grace\nConsent to make their house beneath that place\nIn darkness. Others still consented not,\nBut clove to me the more, like bloodhounds hot\nOn the dying; till to Phoebus' house once more\nI crept, and cast me starving on the floor\nFacing the Holy Place, and made my cry:\n\"Lord Phoebus, here I am come, and here will die,\nUnless thou save me, as thou hast betrayed.\"\nAnd, lo, from out that dark and golden shade\nA voice: \"Go, seek the Taurian citadel:\nSeize there the carven Artemis that fell\nFrom heaven, and stablish it on Attic soil.\nSo comes thy freedom.\"   [IPHIGENIA shrinks.]\n                      Sister, in this toil\n\nHelp us!--If once that image I may win\nThat day shall end my madness and my sin:\nAnd thou, to Argos o'er the sundering foam\nMy many-oared barque shall bear thee home.\n\n  O sister loved and lost, O pitying face,\nHelp my great peril; help our father's race.\nFor lost am I and perished all the powers\nOf Pelops, save that heavenly thing be ours!\n\nLEADER.\nStrange wrath of God hath fallen, like hot rain,\nOn Tantalus' house: he leadeth them through pain.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nLong ere you came my heart hath yearned to be\nIn Argos, brother, and so near to thee:\nBut now--thy will is mine. To ease thy pain,\nTo lift our father's house to peace again,\nAnd hate no more my murderers--aye,'tis good.\nPerchance to clean this hand that sought thy blood,\nAnd save my people...\n                     But the goddess' eyes,\nHow dream we to deceive them? Or what wise\nEscape the King, when on his sight shall fall\nThe blank stone of the empty pedestal? ...\nI needs must die ... What better can I do?\n\n  And yet, one chance there is: could I but go\nTogether with the image: couldst thou bear\nBoth on the leaping seas! The risk were fair.\nBut how?\n\n        Nay, I must wait then and be slain:\nThou shalt walk free in Argolis again,\nAnd all life smile on thee ... Dearest, we need\nNor shrink from that. I shall by mine own deed\nHave saved thee. And a man gone from the earth\nIs wept for. Women are but little worth.\n\nORESTES.\nMy mother and then thou? It may not be.\nThis hand hath blood enough. I stand with thee\nOne-hearted here, be it for life or death,\nAnd either bear thee, if God favoureth,\nWith me to Greece and home, or else lie here\nDead at thy side.--But mark me: if thou fear\nLest Artemis be wroth, how can that be?\nHath not her brother's self commanded me\nTo bear to Greece her image?--Oh, he knew\nHer will! He knew that in this land we two\nMust meet once more. All that so far hath past\nDoth show his work. He will not at the last\nFail. We shall yet see Argos, thou and I.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nTo steal for thee the image, yet not die\nMyself! 'Tis that we need. 'Tis that doth kill\nMy hope. Else ... Oh, God knows I have the will!\n\nORESTES.\nHow if we slew your savage king?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                                Ah, no:\nHe sheltered me, a stranger.\n\nORESTES.\n                            Even so,\nIf it bring life for me and thee, the deed\nMay well be dared.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                  I could not ... Nay; indeed\nI thank thee for thy daring.\n\nORESTES.\n                            Canst thou hide\nMy body in the shrine?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                      There to abide\nTill nightfall, and escape?\n\nORESTES.\n                           Even so; the night\nIs the safe time for robbers, as the light\nFor just men.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                There be sacred watchers there\nWho needs must see us.\n\nORESTES.\n                      Gods above! What prayer\nCan help us then?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                 I think I dimly see\nOne chance.\n\nORESTES.\n           What chance? Speak out thy fantasy.\n\nIPHIGENIA'.\nOn thine affliction I would build my way.\n\nORESTES.\nWomen have strange devices.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                           I would say\nThou com'st from Hellas with thy mother's blood\nUpon thee.\n\nORESTES.\n          Use my shame, if any good\nWill follow.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n            Therefore, an offence most high\nIt were to slay thee to the goddess!\n\nORESTES.\n                                    Why?\nThough I half guess.\n\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                    Thy body is unclean.--\nOh, I will fill them with the fear of sin!\n\nORESTES.\nWhat help is that for the Image?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                                I will crave\nTo cleanse thee in the breaking of the wave.\n\nORESTES.\nThat leaves the goddess still inside her shrine,\nAnd'tis for her we sailed.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                          A touch of thine\nDefiled her. She too must be purified.\n\nORESTES.\nWhere shall it be? Thou knowest where the tide\nSweeps up in a long channel?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                            Yes! And where\nYour ship, I guess, lies moored.\n\nORESTES.\n                                Whose hand will bear--\nShould it be thine?--the image from her throne?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNo hand of man may touch it save mine own.\n\nORESTES.\nAnd Pylades--what part hath he herein?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe same as thine. He bears the self-same sin.\n\nORESTES.\nHow wilt thou work the plan--hid from the king\nOr known?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n         To hide it were a hopeless thing..\nOh, I will face him, make him yield to me.\n\nORESTES.\nWell, fifty oars lie waiting on the sea.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAye, there comes thy work, till an end be made.\n\nORESTES.\nGood. It needs only that these women aid\nOur secret. Do thou speak with them, and find\nWords of persuasion. Power is in the mind\nOf woman to wake pity.--For the rest,\nGod knoweth: may it all end for the best!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nO women, you my comrades, in your eyes\nI look to read my fate. In you it lies,\nThat either I find peace, or be cast down\nTo nothing, robbed for ever of mine own--\nBrother, and home, and sister pricelessly\nBeloved.--Are we not women, you and I,\nA broken race, to one another true,\nAnd strong in our shared secrets? Help me through\nThis strait; keep hid the secret of our flight,\nAnd share our peril! Honour shineth bright\nOn her whose lips are steadfast ... Heaven above!\nThree souls, but one in fortune, one in love,\nThou seest us go--is it to death or home?\nIf home, then surely, surely, there shall come\nPart of our joy to thee. I swear, I swear\nTo aid thee also home ...\n\n[she goes to one after another, and presently\nkneels embracing the knees of the LEADER.]\n\n                        I make my prayer\nBy that right hand; to thee, too, by that dear\nCheek; by thy knees; by all that is not here\nOf things beloved, by mother, father, child--\nThou hadst a child!--How say ye? Have ye smiled\nOr turned from me? For if ye turn away,\nI and my brother are lost things this day.\n\nLEADER.\nBe of good heart, sweet mistress. Only go\nTo happiness. No child of man shall know\nFrom us thy secret. Hear me, Zeus on high!\n\nIPHIGENIA (rising).\nGod bless you for that word, and fill your eye\nWith light!--\n\n[turning to ORESTES and PYLADES.]\n\n             But now, to work! Go thou, and thou,\nIn to the deeper shrine. King Thoas now\nShould soon be here to question if the price\nBe yet paid of the strangers' sacrifice.\n\n[ORESTES and PYLADES go in.]\n\nThou Holy One, that on the shrouded sand\nOf Aulis saved me from a father's hand\nBlood-maddened, save me now, and save these twain.\nElse shall Apollo's lips, through thy disdain,\nBe no more true nor trusted in men's eyes.\nCome from the friendless shore, the cruel skies,\nCome back: what mak'st thou here, when o'er the sea\nA clean and joyous land doth call for thee?\n\n[she follows the men into the temple.]\n\nCHORUS.\n\n[STROPHE I.]\n\nBird of the sea rocks, of the bursting spray,\n      O halcyon bird,\nThat wheelest crying, crying, on thy way;\nWho knoweth grief can read the tale of thee:\nOne love long lost, one song for ever heard\n    And wings that sweep the sea.\n\nSister, I too beside the sea complain,\n    A bird that hath no wing.\nOh, for a kind Greek market-place again,\nFor Artemis that healeth woman's pain; '\n    Here I stand hungering.\nGive me the little hill above the sea,\nThe palm of Delos fringed delicately,\nThe young sweet laurel and the olive-tree\n    Grey-leaved and glimmering;\nO Isle of Leto, Isle of pain and love;\nThe Orbed Water and the spell thereof;\nWhere still the Swan, minstrel of things to be,\n    Doth serve the Muse and sing!\n\n[ANTISTROPHE I.]\n\nAh, the old tears, the old and blinding tears\n    I gave God then,\nWhen my town fell, and noise was in mine ears\nOf crashing towers, and forth they guided me\nThrough spears and lifted oars and angry men\n    Out to an unknown sea.\nThey bought my flesh with gold, and sore afraid\n    I came to this dark East\nTo serve, in thrall to Agamemnon's maid,\nThis Huntress Artemis, to whom is paid\n    The blood of no slain beast;\nYet all is bloody where I dwell, Ah me!\nEnvying, envying that misery\nThat through all life hath endured changelessly.\n    For hard things borne from birth\nMake iron of man's heart, and hurt the less.\n'Tis change that paineth; and the bitterness\nOf life's decay when joy hath ceased to be\n    That makes dark all the earth.\n\n\n      Behold,                  [STROPHE 2.]\n    Two score and ten there be\n    Rowers that row for thee,\nAnd a wild hill air, as if Pan were there,\n    Shall sound on the Argive sea,\n    Piping to set thee free.\n\n    Or is it the stricken string\n    Of Apollo's lyre doth sing\nJoyously, as he guideth thee\n    To Athens, the land of spring;\n    While I wait wearying?\n\n    Oh, the wind and the oar,\n    When the great sail swells before,\nWith sheets astrain, like a horse on the rein;\n    And on, through the race and roar,\n    She feels for the farther shore.\n\n      Ah me,                      [ANTISTROPHE 2.]\n    To rise upon wings and hold\n    Straight on up the steeps of gold\nWhere the joyous Sun in fire doth run,\n    Till the wings should faint and fold\n    O'er the house that was mine of old:\n\n    Or watch where the glade below\n    With a marriage dance doth glow,\nAnd a child will glide from her mother's side\n    Out, out, where the dancers flow:\n    As I did, long ago.\n\n    Oh, battles of gold and rare\n    Raiment and starred hair,\nAnd bright veils crossed amid tresses tossed\n    In a dusk of dancing air!\n    O Youth and the days that were!\n\n\n\n[enter KING THOAS, with soldiers.]\n\nTHOAS.\nWhere is the warden of this sacred gate,\nThe Greek woman? Is her work ended yet\nWith those two strangers? Do their bodies lie\nAflame now in the rock-cleft sanctuary?\n\nLEADER.\nHere is herself, O King, to give thee word.\nenter, from the temple, IPHIGENIA, carrying\n    the image on high.\n\nTHOAS.\nHow, child of Agamemnon! Hast thou stirred\nFrom her eternal base, and to the sun\nBearest in thine own arms, the Holy One?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nBack Lord! No step beyond the pillared way.\n\nTHOAS.\nBut how? Some rule is broken?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n                             I unsay\nThat word. Be all unspoken and unwrought!\n\nTHOAS.\nWhat means this greeting strange? Disclose thy thought.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nUnclean the prey was that ye caught, O King.\n\nTHOAS.\nWho showed thee so? Thine own imagining?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe Image stirred and shuddered from its seat.\n\nTHOAS.\nItself? ... Some shock of earthquake loosened it.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nItself. And the eyes closed one breathing space.\n\nTHOAS.\nBut why? For those two men's bloodguiltiness?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThat, nothing else. For, Oh, their guilt is sore.\n\nTHOAS.\nThey killed some of my herdsmen on the shore?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nTheir sin was brought from home, not gathered here.\n\nTHOAS.\nWhat? I must know this.--Make thy story clear.\n\nIPHIGENIA. (she puts the image down and moves\n            nearer to thoas.)\nThe men have slain their mother.\n\nTHOAS.\n                                  God! And these\nBe Greeks!\n\nIPHIGENIA\nThey both are hunted out of Greece.\n\nTHOAS.\nFor this thou has brought the Image to the sun?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe fire of heaven can cleanse all malison.\n\nTHOAS.\nHow didst thou first hear of their deed of shame?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWhen the Image hid its eyes, I questioned them.\n\nTHOAS.\nGood. Greece hath taught thee many a subtle art.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAh, they too had sweet words to move my heart.\n\nTHOAS.\nSweet words? How, did they bring some news of Greece?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nOrestes, my one brother, lives in peace.\n\nTHOAS.\nSurely! Good news to make thee spare their lives ...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nMy father too in Argos lives and thrives.\n\nTHOAS.\nWhile thou didst think but of the goddess' laws!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nDo I not hate all Greeks? Have I not cause?\n\nTHOAS.\nGood cause. But now ... What service should be paid?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe Law of long years needs must be obeyed.\n\nTHOAS.\nTo work then, with thy sword and handwashing!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFirst I must shrive them with some cleansing thing.\n\nTHOAS.\nWhat? Running water, or the sea's salt spray?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe sea doth wash all the world's ills away.\n\nTHOAS.\nFor sure. 'Twill make them cleaner for the knife.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd my hand, too, cleaner for all my life.\n\nTHOAS.\nWell, the waves lap close by the temple floor.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nWe need a secret place. I must do more.\n\nTHOAS.\nSome rite unseen? 'Tis well. Go where thou wilt.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe Image likewise must be purged of guilt.\n\nTHOAS.\nThe stain hath touched it of that mother's blood?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nI durst not move it else, from where it stood.\n\nTHOAS.\nHow good thy godliness and forethought! Aye,\nSmall wonder all our people holds thee high.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nDost know then what I fain would have?\n\nTHOAS.\n'Tis thine to speak and it shall be.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nPut bondage on the strangers both ...\n\nTHOAS.\nWhy bondage? Whither can they flee?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nPut not thy faith in any Greek.\n\nTHOAS (to ATTENDANTS).\nHo, men! Some thongs and fetters, go!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nStay; let them lead the strangers here, outside the shrine ...\n\nTHOAS.\nIt shall be so.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd lay dark raiment on their heads ...\n\nTHOAS.\nTo veil them, lest the Sun should see.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd lend me some of thine own spears.\n\nTHOAS.\nThis company shall go with thee.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nNext, send through all the city streets a herald ...\n\nTHOAS.\nAye; and what to say?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThat no man living stir abroad.\n\nTHOAS.\nThe stain of blood might cross their way.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAye, sin like theirs doth spread contagion.\n\nTHOAS (to an ATTENDANT).\nForth, and publish my command ...\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThat none stir forth--nor look ...\n\nTHOAS.\nNor look.--How well thou carest for the land!\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nFor one whom I am bound to love.\n\nTHOAS.\nIndeed, I think thou hat'st me not.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd thou meanwhile, here at the temple, wait, O King,\n    and ...\n\nTHOAS.\nWait for what?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nPurge all the shrine with fire.\n\nTHOAS.\n'Twill all be clean before you come again.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd while the strangers pass thee close, seeking the\n    sea ...\n\nTHOAS.\nWhat wouldst thou then?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nPut darkness on thine eyes.\n\nTHOAS.\nMine eyes might drink the evil of their crime?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\n\nAnd, should I seem to stay too long ...\n\nTHOAS.\nToo long? How shall I judge the time?\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nBe not dismayed.\n\nTHOAS.\nPerform thy rite all duly. We have time to spare.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nAnd God but grant this cleansing end as I desire!\n\nTHOAS.\nI join thy prayer.\n\nIPHIGENIA.\nThe door doth open! See, they lead the strangers from\n    the cell within,\nAnd raiment holy and young lambs, whose blood shall\n    shrive the blood of Sin.\nAnd, lo, the light of sacred fires, and things of secret\n    power, arrayed\nBy mine own hand to cleanse aright the strangers, to\n    cleanse Leto's Maid.\n\n[she takes up the image again.]\n\nThere passeth here a holy thing: begone, I charge ye,\n    from the road,\nO whoso by these sacred gates may dwell, hand-consecrate\n    to God,\nWhat man hath marriage in his heart, what woman\n    goeth great with child,\nBegone and tremble from this road: fly swiftly, lest ye\n    be defiled.--\n\nO Queen and Virgin, Leto-born, have pity! Let me\n    cleanse this stain,\nAnd pray to thee where pray I would: a clean house\n    shall be thine again,\nAnd we at last win happiness.--Behold, I speak but as\n    I dare;\nThe rest ... Oh, God is wise, and thou, my Mistress,\n    thou canst read my prayer.\n\n[The procession passes out, THOAS and the bystanders\nveiled; Attendants in front, then\nIPHIGENIA with the Image, then veiled Soldiers,\nthen ORESTES and PYLADES bound,\nthe bonds held by other veiled Soldiers following\nthem. THOAS goes into the Temple.]\n\nCHORUS.                                  [STROPHE.]\n  Oh, fair the fruits of Leto blow:\n  A Virgin, one, with joyous bow,\n  And one a Lord of flashing locks,\n    Wise in the harp, Apollo:\n  She bore them amid Delian rocks,\n    Hid in a fruited hollow.\n\n  But forth she fared from that low reef,\n  Sea-cradle of her joy and grief.\n  A crag she knew more near the skies\n    And lit with wilder water,\n  That leaps with joy of Dionyse:\n    There brought she son and daughter.\n\n  And there, behold, an ancient Snake,\n  Wine-eyed, bronze-gleaming in the brake\n  Of deep-leaved laurel, ruled the dell,\n    Sent by old Earth from under\n  Strange caves to guard her oracle--\n    A thing of fear and wonder.\n\n  Thou, Phoebus, still a new-born thing,\n    Meet in thy mother's arms to lie,\n  Didst kill the Snake and crown thee king,\n    In Pytho's land of prophecy:\n  Thine was the tripod and the chair\n  Of golden truth; and throned there,\n  Hard by the streams of Castaly,\n    Beneath the untrodden portal\n  Of Earth's mid stone there flows from thee\n    Wisdom for all things mortal.\n\n[ANTISTROPHE.]\n\n  He slew the Snake; he cast, men say,\n  Themis, the child of Earth, away\n  From Pytho and her hallowed stream;\n    Then Earth, in dark derision,\n  Brought forth the Peoples of the Dream\n    And all the tribes of Vision.\n\n  And men besought them; and from deep\n  Confused underworlds of sleep\n  They showed blind things that erst had been\n    And are and yet shall follow\n  So did avenge that old Earth Queen\n    Her child's wrong on Apollo.\n\n  Then swiftly flew that conquering one\n  To Zeus on high, and round the throne\n  Twining a small indignant hand,\n    Prayed him to send redeeming\n  To Pytho from that troublous band\n    Sprung from the darks of dreaming.\n\n  Zeus laughed to see the babe, I trow,\n  So swift to claim his golden rite;\n  He laughed and bowed his head, in vow\n  To still those voices of the night.\n  And so from out the eyes of men\n  That dark dream-truth was lost again;\n  And Phoebus, throneed where the throng\n    Prays at the golden portal,\n  Again doth shed in sunlit song\n    Hope unto all things mortal.\n\n\n[enter a MESSENGER, running.]\n\nMESSENGER.\nHo, watchers of the fane! Ho, altar-guard,\nWhere is King Thoas gone? Undo the barred\nPortals, and call the King! The King I seek.\n\nLEADER.\nWhat tidings--if unbidden I may speak?\n\nMESSENGER.\nThe strangers both are gone, and we beguiled,\nBy some dark plot of Agamemnon's child:\nFled from the land! And on a barque of Greece\nThey bear the heaven-sent shape of Artemis.\n\nLEADER.\nThy tale is past belief.--Go, swiftly on,\nAnd find the King. He is but newly gone.\n\nMESSENGER.\nWhere went he? He must know of what has passed!\n\nLEADER.\nI know not where he went. But follow fast\nAnd seek him. Thou wilt light on him ere long.\n\nMESSENGER.\nSee there! The treason of a woman's tongue!\nYe all are in the plot, I warrant ye!\n\nLEADER.\nThy words are mad! What are the men to me? ...\nGo to the palace, go!\n\nMESSENGER (seeing the great knocker on the\n           temple door.)\nI will not stir\nTill word be come by this good messenger\nIf Thoas be within these gates or no.--\n\n[thundering at the door.]\n\nHo, loose the portals! Ye within! What ho!\nOpen, and tell our master one doth stand\nWithout here, with strange evil in his hand.\n\n[enter THAOS from the temple.]\n\nTHOAS.\nWho dares before this portal consecrate\nMake uproar and lewd battering of the gate?\nThy noise hath broke the Altar's ancient peace.\n\nMESSENGER.\nYe Gods! They swore to me--and bade me cease\nMy search--the King was gone. And all the while ...!\n\nTHOAS.\nThese women? How? What sought they by such guile?\n\nMESSENGER.\nOf them hereafter!--Give me first thine ear\nFor greater things. The virgin minister\nThat served our altar, she hath fled from this\nAnd stolen the dread Shape of Artemis,\nWith those two Greeks. The cleansing was a lie.\n\nTHOAS.\nShe fled?--What wild hope whispered her to fly?\n\nMESSENGER.\nThe hope to save Orestes. Wonder on!\n\nTHOAS.\nOrestes--how? Not Clytemnestra's son?\n\nMESSENGER.\nAnd our pledged altar-offering. 'Tis the same.\n\nTHOAS.\nO marvel beyond marvel! By what name\nMore rich in wonder can I name thee right?\n\nMESSENGER.\nGive not thy mind to that. Let ear and sight\nBe mine awhile; and when thou hast heard the whole\nDevise how best to trap them ere the goal.\n\nTHOAS.\nAye, tell thy tale. Our Tauric seas stretch far,\nWhere no man may escape my wand of war.\n\nMESSENGER.\nSoon as we reached that headland of the sea,\nWhereby Orestes' barque lay secretly,\nWe soldiers holding, by thine own commands,\nThe chain that bound the strangers, in our hands,\nThere Agamemnon's daughter made a sign,\nBidding us wait far off, for some divine\nAnd secret fire of cleansing she must make.\nWe could but do her will. We saw her take\nThe chain in her own hands and walk behind.\nIndeed thy servants bore a troubled mind,\nO King, but how do else? So time went by.\nMeanwhile to make it seem she wrought some high\nMagic, she cried aloud: then came the long\nDrone of some strange and necromantic song,\nAs though she toiled to cleanse that blood; and there\nSat we, that long time, waiting. Till a fear\nO'ertook us, that the men might slip their chain\nAnd strike the priestess down and plunge amain\nFor safety: yet the dread our eyes to fill\nWith sights unbidden held us, and we still\nSat silent. But at last all spoke as one,\nForbid or not forbid, to hasten on\nAnd find them. On we went, and suddenly,\nWith oarage poised, like wings upon the sea,\nAn Argive ship we saw, her fifty men\nAll benched, and on the shore, with every chain\nCast off, our strangers, standing by the stern!\nThe prow was held by stay-poles: turn by turn\nThe anchor-cable rose; some men had strung\nLong ropes into a ladder, which they swung\nOver the side for those two Greeks to climb.\n\n  The plot was open, and we lost no time\nBut flew to seize the cables and the maid,\nAnd through the stern dragged out the steering-blade,\nTo spoil her course, and shouted: \"Ho, what way\nIs this, to sail the seas and steal away\nAn holy image and its minister?\nWhat man art them, and what man's son, to bear\nOur priestess from the land?\" And clear thereon\nHe spoke: \"Orestes, Agamemnon's son,\nAnd brother to this maid, whom here in peace\nI bear, my long lost sister, back to Greece.\"\n\n We none the less clung fast to her, and strove\nTo drag her to thy judgment-seat. Thereof\nCame trouble and bruised jaws. For neither they\nNor we had weapons with us. But the way\nHard-beaten fist and heel from those two men\nRained upon ribs and flank--again, again...\nTo touch was to fall gasping! Aye, they laid\nTheir mark on all of us, till back we fled\nWith bleeding crowns, and some with blinded eyes,\nUp a rough bank of rock. There on the rise\nWe found good stones and stood, and fought again.\n\n  But archers then came out, and sent a rain\nOf arrows from the poop, and drove us back.\nAnd just then--for a wave came, long and black,\nAnd swept them shoreward--lest the priestess' gown\nShould feel the sea, Orestes stooping down\nCaught her on his left shoulder: then one stride\nOut through the sea, the ladder at the side\nWas caught, and there amid the benches stood\nThe maid of Argos and the carven wood\nOf heaven, the image of God's daughter high.\n\n  And up from the mid galley rose a cry:\n\"For Greece! For Greece, O children of the shores\nOf storm! Give way, and let her feel your oars;\nChurn the long waves to foam. The prize is won.\nThe prize we followed, on and ever on,\nFriendless beyond the blue Symplegades.\"\n  A roar of glad throats echoed down the breeze\nAnd fifty oars struck, and away she flew.\nAnd while the shelter lasted, she ran true\nFull for the harbour-mouth; but ere she well\nReached it, the weather caught her, and the swell\nWas strong. Then sudden in her teeth a squall\nDrove the sail bellying back. The men withal\nWorked with set teeth, kicking against the stream.\nBut back, still back, striving as in a dream,\nShe drifted. Then the damsel rose and prayed:\n\"O Child of Leto, save thy chosen maid\nFrom this dark land to Hellas, and forgive\nMy theft this day, and let these brave men live.\nDost thou not love thy brother, Holy One?\nWhat marvel if I also love mine own?\"\n\n  The sailors cried a paean to her prayers,\nAnd set those brown and naked arms of theirs,\nHalf-mad with strain, quick swinging chime on chime\nTo the helmsman's shout. But vainly; all the time\nNearer and nearer rockward they were pressed.\nOne of our men was wading to his breast,\nSome others roping a great grappling-hook,\nWhile I sped hot-foot to the town, to look\nFor thee, my Prince, and tell thee what doth pass.\n\n  Come with me, Lord. Bring manacles of brass\nAnd bitter bonds. For now, unless the wave\nFall sudden calm, no mortal power can save\nOrestes. There is One that rules the sea\nWho grieved for Troy and hates her enemy:\nPoseidon's self will give into thine hand\nAnd ours this dog, this troubler of the land--\nThe priestess, too, who, recking not what blood\nRan red in Aulis, hath betrayed her god!\n\nLEADER.\nWoe, woe! To fall in these men's hands again,\nMistress, and die, and see thy brother slain!\n\nTHOAS.\nHo, all ye dwellers of my savage town\nSet saddle on your steeds, and gallop down\nTo watch the heads, and gather what is cast\nAlive from this Greek wreck. We shall make fast,\nBy God's help, the blasphemers.--Send a corps\nOut in good boats a furlong from the shore;\nSo we shall either snare them on the seas\nOr ride them down by land, and at our ease\nFling them down gulfs of rock, or pale them high\nOn stakes in the sun, to feed our birds and die.\n\n  Women: you knew this plot. Each one of you\nShall know, before the work I have to do\nIs done, what torment is.--Enough. A clear\nTask is afoot. I must not linger here.\n\n[While THOAS is moving off, his men shouting\nand running before and behind him, there\ncomes a sudden blasting light and thunder-\nroll, and ATHENA is seen in the air confronting them.]\n\nATHENA.\nHo, whither now, so hot upon the prey,\nKing Thoas? It is I that bid thee stay,\nAthena, child of Zeus. Turn back this flood\nOf wrathful men, and get thee temperate blood.\n  Apollo's word and Fate's ordained path\nHave led Orestes here, to escape the wrath\nOf Them that Hate. To Argos he must bring\nHis sister's life, and guide that Holy Thing\nWhich fell from heaven, in mine own land to dwell.\nSo shall his pain have rest, and all be well.\nThou hast heard my speech, O King. No death from thee\nMay share Orestes between rocks and sea:\nPoseidon for my love doth make the sore\nWaves gentle, and set free his labouring oar.\n\n  And thou, O far away--for, far or near\nA goddess speaketh and thy heart must hear--\nGo on thy ways, Orestes, bearing home\nThe Image and thy sister. When ye come\nTo god-built Athens, lo, a land there is\nHalf hid on Attica's last boundaries,\nA little land, hard by Karystus' Rock,\nBut sacred. It is called by Attic folk\nHalae. Build there a temple, and bestow\nTherein thine Image, that the world may know\nThe tale of Tauris and of thee, cast out\nFrom pole to pole of Greece, a blood-hound rout\nOf ill thoughts driving thee. So through the whole\nOf time to Artemis the Tauropole\nShall men make hymns at Halae. And withal\nGive them this law. At each high festival,\nA sword, in record of thy death undone,\nShall touch a man's throat, and the red blood run--\nOne drop, for old religion's sake. In this\nShall live that old red rite of Artemis.\nAnd them, Iphigenia, by the stair\nOf Brauron in the rocks, the Key shalt bear\nOf Artemis. There shalt thou live and die,\nAnd there have burial. And a gift shall lie\nAbove thy shrine, fair raiment undefiled\nLeft upon earth by mothers dead with child.\n\nYe last, O exiled women, true of heart\nAnd faithful found, ye shall in peace depart,\nEach to her home: behold Athena's will.\n\nOrestes, long ago on Ares' Hill\nI saved thee, when the votes of Death and Life\nLay equal: and henceforth, when men at strife\nSo stand, mid equal votes of Life and Death,\nMy law shall hold that Mercy conquereth.\nBegone. Lead forth thy sister from this shore\nIn peace; and thou, Thoas, be wroth no more.\n\nTHOAS.\nMost high Athena, he who bows not low\nHis head to God's word spoken, I scarce know\nHow such an one doth live. Orestes hath\nFled with mine Image hence ... I bear no wrath.\nNor yet against his sister. There is naught,\nMethinks, of honour in a battle fought\n'Gainst gods. The strength is theirs. Let those two fare\nForth to thy land and plant mine Image there.\nI wish them well.\n\n         These bondwomen no less\nI will send free to Greece and happiness,\nAnd stay my galleys' oars, and bid this brand\nBe sheathed again, Goddess, at thy command.\n\nATHENA.\n'Tis well, O King. For that which needs must be\nHoldeth the high gods as it holdeth thee.\n\nWinds of the north, O winds that laugh and run,\nBear now to Athens Agamemnon's son:\nMyself am with you, o'er long leagues of foam\nGuiding my sister's hallowed Image home.\n\n[she floats away.]\n\nCHORUS.\nSOME WOMEN.\n\n    Go forth in bliss, O ye whose lot\n    God shieldeth, that ye perish not!\n\nOTHERS.\n\n  O great in our dull world of clay,\n    And great in heaven's undying gleam,\n  Pallas, thy bidding we obey:\n  And bless thee, for mine ears have heard\n  The joy and wonder of a word\n    Beyond my dream, beyond my dream.\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES TO IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS\n\n\nP. 3, 1. 1.--Oenomaus, King of Elis, offered his daughter and his\nkingdom to any man who should beat him in a chariot race; those\nwho failed he slew. Pelops challenged him and won the race through\na trick of his servant, Myrtilus, who treacherously took the\nlinchpins out of Oenomaus's chariot. Oenomaus was thrown out and\nkilled; Pelops took the kingdom, but in remorse or indignation\nthrew Myrtilus into the sea (1. 192, p. 11). In some stories\nOenomaus killed the suitors by spearing them from behind when they\npassed him. Pelops was the son of Tantalus, renowned for his pride\nand its punishment.\n\nP. 3, 1. 8, For Helen's sake.--i.e. in order to win Helen back\nfrom the Trojans.\n\nP. 4, 1. 23, Whatever birth most fair.--Artemis Kalliste (\"Most\nFair\") was apparently so called because, after a competition for\nbeauty, that which won the prize ([Greek Text]) was selected and\ngiven to her. This rite is made by the story to lead to a\nsacrifice of the fairest maiden, and may very possibly have\nsometimes done so.\n\nP. 4, 1. 42.--She tells her dream to the sky to get it off her\nmind, much as the Nurse does in the Medea (p. 5,1.57).\n\nP. 5, 1. 50, One ... pillar.--It is worth remembering that a\npillar was among the earliest objects of worship in Crete and\nelsewhere. Cf. \"the pillared sanctities\" (1. 128, p. 9) and the\n\"blood on the pillars\" (1. 405, p. 20).\n\nP. 8, 1. 113, A hollow one might creep through.--The metopes, or\ngaps between the beams. The Temple was therefore of a primitive\nDorian type.\n\nP. 8, 11. 124-125.--The land of Tauris is conceived as being\nbeyond the Symplegades, or, as here, as being the country of the\nSymplegades.\n\nAs these semi-mythical names settled down in history, Tauris\nbecame the Crimea, the Symplegades, or \"Clashing Rocks,\" or \"Dark-\nBlue Rocks,\" became two rocks at the upper end of the Bosphorus,\nand the Friendless or Strangerless Sea became the Euxine. The word\nAxeinos, \"Friendless,\" has often been altered in the MSS. of this\nplay to Euxeinos, \"Hospitable,\" which was the ordinary prose name\nof the Black Sea in historical times.\n\nP. 9, l. 133, The horses and the towers.--The steppes of the\nTaurians would have no gardens or city walls, but it is curious\nthat Hellas should seem specially a land of horses by comparison.\nCf. p. 86, l. 1423, where Thoas has horses.\n\nP. 10, l. 168, The golden goblet, &c.--She evidently takes jars of\nlibation from the Attendants and pours them during the next few\nlines into some Eschara, or Altar for the Dead. Most of the rite\nwould probably be performed kneeling.\n\nP. 11, ll. 192 ff., The dark and wheeling coursers.--i.e. those\nof Pelops. The cry of one betrayed: Myrtilus, when he was thrown\ninto the sea. (See on l. 1.) For the Golden Lamb and the Sun\nturning in Heaven, see my translation of Electra, p. 47, l. 699\nand note.\n\nP. 12, l. 217, The Nereid's Son.--Achilles, son of Peleus and the\nNereid Thetis.\n\nP. 13, l. 238, The Herdsman's entrance.--Observe how Iphigenia is\nfirst merely disturbed in her obsequies: then comes the sickening\nnews that there are strangers to sacrifice: then lastly, her worst\nfear is realised; the men are Greeks. This explains her\nexasperated tone in l. 254, \"The sea! What is the sea ...\" and \"Go\nback!\"--The Herdsman is merely jubilant and obtuse.\n\nP. 15, l. 263.--The murex or purple-fish could only be collected\nin very late autumn or early spring; consequently the fishers made\nencampments for the winter and returned to Tyre and Sidon, or\nwherever else they came from, after the spring fishing. See\nBerard, Pheniciens et Odyssee, i. 415.\n\nP. 15, 1. 270, Son of the White Sea Spirit, &c.--The man is, of\ncourse, made to use the names of Greek not of Taurian gods. He\nthinks first of Palaemon, a sea-god, son of Leucothea (\"White-\nGoddess\"), then of the Dioskori, Castor and Polydeuces; then\nvaguely of some spirits beloved of Nereus, the Ancient of the Sea.\n\nP. 17, 1. 328 f., Of all those shots not one struck home.--The\nobject of this statement must be to explain why the two heroes do\nnot make their appearance bruised and dishevelled as the Second\nMessenger does after his fight with the Greeks. Of course there is\nno great harm in making the Taurians bad shots as well as cowards,\nand possibly there is some value in the suggestion of a\nsupernatural protection which is only saving its object for a\ncrueller death. But very likely the two lines are interpolations.\n\nPp. 17, 18, 11. 342 ff.--A wonderful speech, illustrating the\ngradual breaking-up of the ice in Iphigenia's nature.--The\nHerdsman's story has, of course, been horrible to her; all the\nmore so because he expects her to enjoy it and recalls wild words\nshe has uttered in the past, when brooding on her wrongs. She\ncontrols her feelings absolutely till the man is gone. Then she\nfeels like one turned to stone, pitiless; then, if only it were\nHelen or Menelaus that she had to kill! Then vivid thoughts of the\nmisery and horror of Aulis and the poor foolish hopes and tremors\nin which she had come there; then the thought that Orestes, the\none man whom she could love without resentment, is dead. Then a\nrage of indignation against the bloody rites and the infamy of the\nthing she has to do. She goes into the Temple broken in nerve and\nalmost ready for rebellion.\n\nP. 19, 11. 385 ff.--Leto, beloved of Zeus, was the mother of\nArtemis and Apollo, who were born in the holy island of Delos.--\nOne legend, already rejected by Pindar, said that the crime of\nTantalus was that he had given his child Pelops to the gods to\neat.\n\nP. 19, 1. 392, Dark of the sea.--The Dark-Blue of the Symplegades\nis meant. Sometimes it is only the Argo that has ever passed\nthrough them; here it is only Io, daughter of Inachus, loved by\nZeus and hunted by the gadfly, who fled outcast through the East.\nHer story is told in Aeschylus' Prometheus and in a magnificent\nchorus of his Suppliant Women. (See Rise of the Greek Epic, pp.\n247 ff.)\n\nThe present lyric begins by wondering how and why the strangers\nhave come: then come thoughts of the voyage and places they must\nhave passed; the coast, where Phineus was haunted by the Harpies,\nthe enchanted sea beyond the Symplegades, and the mysterious Isle\nof Leuce (\"White\") where Achilles lives after death.--Then comes a\nthought of Iphigenia's longing for revenge on Helen: but revenge\nis no use. It is home they crave, or, if that is impossible, then\nsleep and dreams of home.\n\nP. 21, 1. 431, The steering oar abaft;--The steering was done by\nan oar, or sometimes two oars, projecting into the sea from a hole\nin the stern. Cf. 1. 1356, p. 83, \"And through the stern dragged\nout the steering-blade.\" If this oar was left free, it would\nripple and beat against the side.\n\nP. 23, 1. 472, What mother then was yours, &c.--Not very like a\nwoman \"turned to stone\" or \"without a tear.\" She had miscalculated\nher own feelings.--Observe how Orestes sternly rejects her\nsentimental sympathy. He needs all his strength.\n\nP. 25, 1. 512, A kind of banishment.--He was driven by his Furies,\nnot legally banished.\n\nPp. 26, 27, 11. 515 and 529, \"Oh how sweet to see thee here!\" and\n\"Oh, give me this hour full. Thou wilt soon die.\"--Iphigenia is\nmore than tactless. She is so starving for home or anything that\nbrings her into touch with home, that neither this Stranger's\ndeath nor anything else matters to her in comparison. A fine\ndramatic stroke.\n\nThe people of whom she asks are, first, her enemies--Helen;\nCalchas, the prophet, who had commanded her sacrifice; Odysseus,\nwho had devised the plot by which she was brought to Aulis (11.\n16, 24); then Achilles, who had been the hero of her dreams; then,\nwith fear and hesitancy, those for whom she cares most.--Observe,\nat 1. 553, how, on hearing of her father's murder, her first\nthought is pity for her mother. Her father is already in her mind\n\"he that slew.\" But in every line of this dialogue there is fine\ndrama and psychology.\n\nP. 28, 1. 538, \"Small help his bridal brought him; he is dead.\"--\nIt has been thought curious that the mention of Achilles should\nimmediately suggest to Orestes the bridal at Aulis, though of\ncourse it does so to Iphigenia. But after all it was Orestes'\nsister that Achilles was to marry at Aulis; and secondly, a large\npart of Orestes' troubles came from the carrying off of his\nbetrothed, Hermione, by Achilles' bastard son, Pyrrhus. If the\nmarriage at Aulis had taken place and Achilles left a true-born\nson, that would all have been different.\n\nP. 31, 1. 569, Light dreams farewell! Ye too were lies.--This does\nseem a wrong conclusion. The dreams only suggested that Orestes\nhad died the day before, long after this man had left Argos. But\nperhaps it is not unnatural.\n\nP. 32, 11. 576 f., We too have kinsmen dear.--A most\ncharacteristic Euripidean saying. It also leads up to the personal\ninterest in the Chorus which we feel after 1. 1075, p. 63, when\nthey are taken into the conspiracy and then abandoned.\n\nP. 32, 1. 578, Listen; for I am fallen upon a thought.--It must\nnot be supposed that this use of the tablet is an obvious or easy\nthing. It is a daring project that crosses her mind, as one\npossible way of avoiding the death of this Stranger. Her\nhesitation at 1. 742--where a pause is indicated in the Greek--\nshows that she is only trusting to her special influence over the\nKing to get him to relax the law. Presumably merchants sometimes\nwere admitted to the Tauri; for instance, those who brought the\nChorus. The safe way to use the tablet would have been to make\nsure of the friendship of one of these. But such questions lie\noutside the play.\n\nP. 34, 1. 618, This altar's spell is over me.--I translate the MS.\nreading [Greek text]. In my text I accepted the usual emendation\n[Greek text]. But [Greek text] means \"spell\" or \"infection.\" See\nRise of the Greek Epic, p. 86.\n\nP. 34, 1. 627, My sister's hand.--i.e. Electra's.\n\nPp. 35-39, 11. 645-724.--Observe that all through this scene it is\nPylades who is broken and Orestes strong. Contrast their first\nentrance, pp. 6-8.\n\nP. 45, 1. 804, Argos is bright with him.--Literally, \"is full of\nhim.\" I am not sure that I understand the expression, but I think\nshe feels Orestes as a magnificent presence filling all his home.\n\nP. 46, 11. 809 ff.--The \"signs\" are clear enough. He remembers\nthat there was an embroidery of the Golden Lamb story worked by\nIphigenia; that when she started for Aulis she had cut off her\nhair for her mother and her mother had given her some Inachus\nwater to use in the sacred washing before her marriage; also,\nthere was an old spear belonging to Pelops in Iphigenia's room.--\nApparently Pelops carried a spear in the chariot race, just as\nOenomaus did.\n\nPp. 47-50, 11. 827-900.--In this scene Iphigenia simply abandons\nherself to one emotion after another, while Orestes, amid all his\njoy, keeps his head and thinks about the danger that still\nsurrounds them. When he reminds her that they are \"not yet\nfortunate,\" she thinks only of Aulis and her old wrong. At last\nOrestes gets in the word, \"Suppose you had murdered me to-day,\"\nand she is recalled by a rush of horror at her own conduct: she\nhas nearly killed him, and he is still in imminent danger. She\ntries passionately and despairingly to think of ways of escape,\nbut it needs the intervention of Pylades (which she rather\nresents) to bring her into a mood for sober thinking.\n\nP. 51, 1. 915, A wife and happy.--The last we heard of Electra was\nthat she lived \"unmated and alone\" (1. 562, p. 31). But that was\nsaid when Pylades was regarded as practically a dead man. Electra\nwas apparently betrothed to Pylades, but was not actually his\nwife.--There is no mention of the Peasant husband of the Electra.\n\nP. 52, 1. 818.--Anaxibia (?), sister of Agamemnon, was wife to\nStrophios. See genealogical table.\n\nP. 53, 11. 930 ff., That frenzy on the shore!--It is only now that\nIphigenia fully realises her brother's madness. His narrative\nimmediately following makes her feel it the more, and it is\nevidently in her mind while she speaks 11. 989 ff.\n\nP. 54 f., 11. 940 ff., Orestes' Trial at Athens.--According to one\nlegend Orestes was finally purified of his guilt by a trial at the\nAreopagus, in which Apollo championed him, and Athena, as\nPresident, gave a casting vote for mercy. (This is the story of\nAeschylus' Eumenides.) By another, he was healed when he had\nbrought this Image of Artemis to Attica. Euripides combines the\ntwo.--It must often have happened in a blood-feud that some of the\nkindred of the slain man would accept the result of a trial and\nobey the law, while some cared for no law but clung to their\nvengeance. Euripides makes the Furies do the same. Some accept the\njudgment and stay as \"Eumenides\" in Athens; others know no law nor\nmercy.\n\nP. 55, 11. 949-960, Mine evil days are made a rite among them.--At\nthe Feast of the Anthesteria, each family summoned its ghosts from\nthe grave and after the feast sent them back again. While they\nwere about, it was very important that each man should keep his\nghosts to himself: there must be no infection of strange or\nbaleful ghosts. Hence a rite in which each man ate and drank his\nown portion, holding no communication with his neighbour. The\nstory then went that this was done in commemoration of Orestes'\nvisit to Athens with the stain of blood upon him. (See Miss\nHarrison's Prolegomena, chap, ii.) There was a similar feast in\nAegina.\n\nP. 56, 11. 990-1006.--Iphigenia's speech. We must realise that\nIphigenia has been suddenly confronted by a new and complicated\ndifficulty. She was prepared to make some plot to save her\nbrother's life. She now realises that he is on the verge of\nmadness; that he is determined to commit an act of what will be\nconsidered desperate sacrilege by stealing the image of Artemis;\nand that he expects her to help him to get the image to his ship.\n--She might hope to send him away safe and be forgiven by the King:\nif she helps him to steal the image, she cannot possibly be\nforgiven. Again, she might very possibly fly with him secretly, if\nshe went alone; but to steal the statue and fly seems impossible.\n\nConfronted with this problem, she deliberately abandons both her\nthoughts of vengeance and her hope of escape, and agrees to give\nher life for Orestes.\n\nP. 59, 1. 1029, I think I dimly see.--Compare Electra,\ntranslation, p. 42, where Electra suddenly solves the difficulty\nof slaying Clytemnestra.\n\nP. 63, 11. 1075 ff., Be of good heart, sweet Mistress.--The women\nof the Chorus are indeed \"true of heart and faithful found,\" as\nAthena says later. And one feels that Iphigenia, after her first\ngush of gratitude, does not think of them much. She will save her\nbrother, and they will be left with very little hope of ever\nseeing Greece, if indeed they are not fatally compromised by their\nshare in the plot.--One can hardly blame Iphigenia; but it is like\nher.\n\nP. 64, 1. 1089, Bird of the sea rocks.--A wonderful lyric, as\nspoken by these exiles waiting on the shore.--In their craving\nfor home the island of Delos becomes the symbol for all that is\nGreek. Delos, the birth-place of Apollo and of a kinder Artemis\nthan that which they now serve, was the meeting-place of all the\nIonians. The palm-tree, the laurel, the olive, and the Orbed Lake\nof Delos were all celebrated in ritual poetry. The singing Swan is\nnot a myth; it is a migratory swan, with a bell-like cry, which\ncomes in the winter down from South Russia to Greece.\n\nIsle of Pain and Love.--Literally, \"Beloved birth-pang of Leto.\"\nWhen Leto was about to give birth to her twin children and no land\nwould receive her, the little rock of Delos pitied her and gave\nher a resting-place.\n\nP. 64, 11. 1106 ff., Ah the old tears.--The singer's mind goes\nback to her old grief, when her city was taken and she sold as a\nslave from market to market till she reached Thoas. Then comes the\nthought of Iphigenia's happy voyage to Greece and freedom; then a\ndream-like longing to fly home, to watch the dances where once she\ndanced for the prize of beauty.\n\nP. 67, 1. 1156, Iphigenia enters, carrying the Image.--It would\nprobably be a sort of Palladion--a rough figure with a shield\n(originally typifying the moon?), not very large. She would\nprobably hold it in a robe of some sort, that her bare hand might\nnot touch a thing so holy. At sight of Thoas she would probably\ncover it up altogether. It is not quite clear when she puts the\nimage down.\n\nP. 67, 1. 1161, I unsay that word.--It was a bad omen for Thoas to\nsay at so critical a moment that a rule was broken. The priestess\ndeclares the word unsaid--just the opposite of \"accepting\" an\nomen.--Dr. Verrall, however, suggests to me that the line means,\n\"I ask Hosia (the spirit of Holiness) to take in charge what I am\ngoing to say\"; i.e. all the falsehoods into which she is about to\nplunge.\n\nThis scene of the fooling of Thoas is full of wit and double\nmeanings. The end of it is rather like the famous scene in Forget-\nme-not, where the Corsican avenger is induced to turn his back in\norder to let a lady pass out of the room without being seen and\ncompromised, the lady in question being really the person whom he\nhas sworn to kill.\n\nP. 72, 11. 1203 ff.--This change of metre denotes increasing\ntension of excitement.\n\nEach individual invention of Iphigenia seems clearly to have its\npurpose. She wants to combine a great appearance of precaution\nagainst the escape of the strangers--hence the soldiers, the\nbonds, &c.--with the greatest possible reality of precaution\nagainst any one preventing their escape: hence she takes the\nsoldiers without an officer, the townsfolk are forbidden to follow\nor even to look, and the King is left at the Temple. The exact\nmotive of all the veiling I do not see; perhaps it adds to the\neffect to represent Thoas as deliberately hiding his eyes while he\nis deceived. But in any case her precautions all seem sound\naccording to ancient theology.\n\nP. 77, 11. 1235, 1282, Oh, fair the fruits of Leto blow, &c.--A\ncurious and rather difficult little ritual hymn explaining how\nApollo came from Delos to Delphi. It acts more as an interlude\nthan anything else, to fill the time until we learn the issue of\nthe attempt at escape.\n\nAll Delphi originally belonged to Mother Earth. The oracles were\ngiven by her daughter Themis, and the place guarded by an ancient\nearth-born Dragon. Apollo came, slew the Dragon, and turned Themis\naway. Earth took revenge upon him in a curious manner: she\ninvented Dreams, which told the future freely, though, it would\nseem, confusedly, and, so to speak, spoiled the trade of Delphi\nuntil Apollo appealed to Zeus for protection.--The story is not\nvery creditable to the gods, and is expressly denied by Aeschylus\non that ground. According to them there was never any strife;\nEarth, Themis, Phoebe peacefully succeeded one another at Delphi,\nand Phoebe gave it as a birth-gift to Phoebus or Apollo.\n\nI think the story is probably a case of the infant Sun slaying the\nSerpent of darkness. The ancient identification of Phoebus Apollo\nwith the sun and Artemis Hecate with the moon seems to me to\nwithstand all modern criticisms, though of course there are many\nother elements combined with the Sun and Moon elements.\n\nP. 79, 1. 1284, Messenger.--This excited rush upon the stage of a\nman clamouring for the King is very clever as a next step in the\nstory. One sees at once the sort of thing that has happened, and\nwants to know what exactly.\n\nP. 80, 1. 1302, \"This good messenger.\"--There is nothing to tell\nus what the good messenger is. Probably a large sacred knocker,\nsuch as were often on temple doors. (They served for suppliants to\ncatch hold of as well as for summoning the people inside.) But it\nmay be a gong or a horn hanging by the door, or the like.\n\nP. 82, 1. 1325, Aye tell thy tale.--It is perhaps a little awkward\nthat Thoas should ask for the whole story before taking any steps\nto pursue Iphigenia. But partly he is so amazed that he wants to\nhear all he can before moving; partly, he is represented as being\nreally sure of his prey, as king of all the Taurian seas.\n\nP. 83, 1. 1350, The prow was held by stay-poles.--The ship was\nafloat, having been just dragged off the shore, bow forwards. The\nmen were raising the anchor, and holding the prow steady by long\npunt-poles. The ladder seems to have been a rope-ladder; but the\nGreek is difficult, and I do not know of any mention of a rope-\nladder elsewhere in Greek literature.\n\nP. 84, 1. 1384, The Maid of Argos and the carven wood of Heaven--\nObserve how closely Iphigenia and the image are united. She\nappears with it in her arms; she must fly together with it, or\ndie; she and the image enter the ship together. There is religion\nbehind this. Perhaps there was some old statue of the goddess\ncarrying her own image, as Athena sometimes carries a Palladion;\nwhen Iphigenia became the priestess and Artemis the goddess, this\nwas interpreted as the priestess carrying the goddess' image.\n\nP. 85, 1. 1415, There is One who rules the sea.--Poseidon, the\nsea god, was traditionally a friend of Troy. See the first scene\nof The Trojan Women.\n\nP. 86, 1. 1435, ATHENA.--Modern readers complain a good deal of\nthis appearance of the God from the Machine. Some day I hope to\ndiscuss the Deus ex Machina at length, but in the meantime I would\npoint out the following facts: 1. A theophany or appearance of a\ngod seems to have been in the essence of the original conception\nof Greek Drama; a study of the fragments of Aeschylus will\nillustrate this. What Euripides did, apparently, was to invent, or\nuse when invented, an improved kind of stage machinery for\nintroducing the god in the air. 2. The theophany seems to have\nbeen effective with the Greek audience, and I believe it would\nusually be so with any audience that was not highly sophisticated\nand accustomed to associate such appearances with pantomime\nfairies. 3. In nearly all cases the god who appears not only\nspeaks lines of great beauty and serenity, but also comes with\ncounsel and comfort which have something of heaven about them. The\nDioscori of the Electra are most typical, healing the agony of\nrevenge by sheer forgiveness; the beautiful Artemis of the\nHippolytus is different, but divine also. But every case needs its\nspecial treatment.\n\nP. 87, 1. 1457, Artemis the Tauropole.--On the rite of Artemis\nTauropolos at Halae, see Preface, p. vi. There is a play on words\nin \"Tauropole\"; it is interesting to see that Euripides has\nprepared for it as early as Orestes' first speech, 11. 84 f.,\nthough I did not think it worth representing in English there.","title":"The Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":19328}